


The Bridges We Built

by son_of_a_bitch_spn_family



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU with Canon callbacks/references, Angel Castiel, Background Relationships, Bad Parenting, Canon typical level of violence, Depictions of Drowning, Hunter Dean, Inspired By The Lion King Two, John is as much as a dick as ever, M/M, Mentions of Bobby/Rufus, Mentions of Gabriel/Sam/Eileen, Mentions of Jo/Charlie - Freeform, No one is a Lion I promise, Psychic Sam, So Many Bridge Themes, Sort Of, but Baby is a sea turtle, family values, no really, smoke inhalation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family/pseuds/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family
Summary: On a lone island, The Angels and The Hunters are separated by much more than just a bridge. Cast out long ago, The Angels are frothing for vengeance, waiting to take their home back from The Hunters who infested it. Prepared to go to war, The Hunters want nothing more than all monsters to be erridacitated - especially Angels.With the Hunters breathing down Dean's neck and eyeing Castiel like he might bite, things start to go from bad to worse. And if things couldn't get any harder, Dean has to face his father, who hates Angels more than anything else to ever cross his path.Fighting a battle between what he knows is right and finally making his father proud, Dean has to manage an Angel with too blue eyes and beautiful wings, a brother who's dreams really do come true, and a war brewing between the two communities.Everything is surely to come to a head, but… Dean will cross that bridge when he gets to it.





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very excited to share this fic with everyone, but first I have to give a few major shout outs! 
> 
> First, to the lovely mods of this wonderful challenge. They are, hands down, the best mods of any challenge there is, and that's a hill I will die on. They are kind, courteous, helpful, and made this challenge so much fun. If not for them, this experience would not be what it is. 
> 
> Second, to my lovely beta: Ellen who tackled this with kindness and lovely advice. To have their help on this, from such a lovely writer as well, it truly went a long way, thank you so much! 
> 
> And lastly, to my wonderful artist: Hitori Alouette who was honestly such a huge pleasure to work with. She did such amazing art for this fic and really paid attention to every detail, from the thigh holster on Dean's leg to the feathered armor on Cas. Every moment with her was amazing, and the art truly does speak for itself. I will cherish it forever. Have a look at the amazing art here
> 
> Honestly, this story means so much to me and I love it so, so much. Without further ado, enjoy!

 

_We build too many walls, and not enough bridges._

_-Isaac Newton_

 

 

* * *

 

 

  


 

Dean was merely ten years old when he discovered that bridges didn't close the gap between two worlds.

 

It was midday in the summer, and Sam was kicking piles of sand in front of their hut, childish joy escaping him in peals of laughter as the sand crabs wriggled themselves back under the safety of the sand he had yet to kick. Jo was busy collecting all the shells the ocean had to offer, ignoring her mother's shouts of warning to stay away from the incoming tide. Dean stood on the stoop of their hut, waiting for Bobby to step out so he could head inside to talk with his father.

 

It wasn't too long before the man ducked out the door, his face twisted in a scowl that made Dean's stomach hurt. Bobby and his father were always fighting, “not seeing eye-to-eye” as Ellen had mildly put it when he'd asked why. When Bobby glanced down at him, his face smoothed out, clearing of any annoyance, and Dean smiled innocently up at him.

 

“You weren't listening in, were you, boy?” Bobby asked gruffly, narrowing his eyes.

 

Dean hadn't been, but he rocked back on his heels and clutched his hands behind his back. “No, sir.”

 

“Ya ain't lying to me, are you?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

Bobby let out a huff and shook his head. “Don't go spoutin’ anything off about The Angels, you hear me? Me and your father just had a simple meeting about them. I don't want to hear nothing about you telling people we're talking about them.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed, nodding seriously.

 

“Alright, go on in then,” Bobby said, sighing and stepping off the porch of their hut.

 

Dean did as he was told, grinning as he entered their home. He'd learned from a very young age that sometimes not saying anything at all was better than asking any questions.

 

The floor creaked as he darted through the front room that was their kitchen and hang-out spot all at once. He moved to his father's room quickly, not wanting to keep him waiting. His father hated it when Dean moved too slow or kept him waiting. As soon as he stepped into his father's room, the man in question looked up.

 

“You sure took your time.” John motioned Dean to the seat on the other side of the desk he was sitting at. “Come in and sit; I need to talk to you.”

 

Dean did as he was told, throat going tight as he clenched his hands in his lap. “Am I in trouble?” he mumbled warily, stomach already in knots.

 

John stared at him with a sharp gaze. “Did you do anything that warrants you to be in trouble?”

 

“Um,” Dean whispered, eyes wide. He immediately panicked, brain trying to think over anything he could have done to upset his father. “I don't think so.”

 

“Sit up straight, Dean, you know I hate the slumping. You're going to be a Head Hunter someday, and no son of mine is going to walk around bent over. Hold yourself tall, be proud.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

John gave a curt nod of approval as Dean's back snapped straight. “No, you're not in trouble, but if you don't keep towards the beach, you will be. Rufus told me you've been venturing out closer to the patrol.”

 

“I just wanted to see the bridge—”

 

“No. You are not to go to the bridge, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, averting his gaze from his father's steely one.

 

“Good.” John sighed heavily. “Do you want to know why you can't go to the bridge, Dean?”

 

That felt like a trick question. Dean had been told plenty by his father not to ask questions, to just do as he was told. He was curious though; he wanted to know what was so bad about the bridge and why only adults were allowed there. He wasn't sure what to say, but he couldn't shrug because his father didn't like that either.

 

“Because you told me not to, right?” Dean settled for that, knowing he'd either get the real answer or his father's approval—or something like it.

 

John hummed. “Yes, but there are Angels on the other side of that bridge, and you're still too young to be able to kill one. Until you're a man, you cannot venture over that bridge. Am I clear?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied immediately, jerking his head rapidly. “I won't go over the bridge.”

 

“Good, now go back outside. You'll be eating with Ellen and Jo tonight; I have important business to attend to,” John told him.

 

Dean nodded again, far used to that by now. As he rushed back out of the hut, he thought about all the times his father had actually shared a meal with him and Sam. The number could be counted on both hands. But Dean's father was the Head Hunter and he was very busy, or so Dean was told. It was more of a surprise to actually spend any amount of time with his father than it was not to.

 

But Ellen said that his father was the leader of The Hunters and was very busy. She also said that Dean would one day understand because he was going to be the next Head Hunter. But Dean didn't think he wanted to do that; he liked spending time with Sam, liked exploring the Island, liked being able to play in between any chores he had to do. No one really cared about what he wanted though.

 

“Dean!” Sam yelled excitedly, running over to him with a small grey shell.

 

“Where'd you get that?” Dean picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was a bit jagged and dull in color, but Sam seemed excited by it all the same, so Dean acted like it was the prettiest shell he'd ever seen in his life. “Did you find it?”

 

“No,” Sam said, practically vibrating in his spot, hands waving spastically. “Jo gave it to me, and guess what she said?”

 

“What?”

 

“She said that the ocean wanted me to have it.”

 

“Did she?”

 

“And it's true! I had a dream about this shell. The water was trying to take it back, but something saved it from drowning.”

 

“Shells can't drown, Sam,” Dean told him.

 

Sam laughed. “Anything can drown.”

 

“Well, here you go.”

 

“You keep it.”

 

Dean stared at the shell in his hands, frowning slightly. “Okay. Thanks, Sammy.”

 

“So, what did Dad say?” Sam asked, eyes lit up with childish wonder. “Dad never talks to us alone, so it had to be cool. What happened?”

 

“You're not gonna believe it!” Dean exclaimed, shoving the shell in his pocket mindlessly. “Dad said that Angels live on the other side of the bridge and that's why kids aren't allowed there.”

 

Sam's mouth parted in awe. _“No way!”_

 

“Yes, and guess what?”

 

“What?”

 

“He said that one day I'd be big enough to kill an Angel,” Dean told him, voice dipping low as he told a secret. He frowned suddenly. “But I can't do it now.”

 

“Why not? Are you _scared?”_

 

“No! I'm not scared, Sam!”

 

Sam laughed, little hand coming up to cover his mouth as he smiled widely. “Dean's scared of Angels, Dean's scared of Angels, Dean's—”

 

“Shut up, no I am not!” Dean yelled, reaching out to pinch Sam's arm, making him yelp.

 

“Hey, that hurt!”

 

“Well, I'm _not_ scared of Angels.”

 

“Oh yeah? Then go over there,” Sam challenged, brown eyes sparking mischievously. “If you're not scared, you'll do it.”

 

“Dad said I couldn't go over the bridge,” Dean told him warily, wringing his hands together.

 

Sam shrugged, unsympathetic to his dilemma. “I guess you'll have to go a different way.”

 

_“Fine,”_ Dean snapped, crossing his arms and lifting his chin, “I'll do it, I'll go over there.”

 

“I'll know if you don't,” Sam warned, wagging a finger at him and narrowing his eyes. “You gotta bring back a feather or I won't believe you.”

 

Dean held his head high. “I'll bring back a feather, and when I do, you have to clean the whole hut by yourself for a week!”

 

“Deal.”

 

“Deal.”

 

With that, Dean turned on his heel and stomped off in the direction of the bridge, one destination on his mind. Sam snickered behind him as he left, no doubt thinking Dean wouldn't be able to pull it off. He always enjoyed making Dean do the hardest things; wading out past the docks, climbing the tallest coconut tree, sneaking candy from their father's desk. This wasn't the first time Sam had asked him to do something drastic.

 

But it was his last.

  


 

 

  


 

Dean knew he couldn't go over the bridge, that if he did, his father would be really angry. He didn't like it when his father got mad; he always yelled and made Dean skip his dinner. So going over the bridge wasn't allowed, but he also had to get a feather from an Angel.

 

Dean decided the best way to do that was to walk to the bridge, turn right, and hope there would be a way to get across.

 

It wasn't too hard to avoid the patrol. Dean had seen the plans his father had left on his desk, and he knew the routes they would take. Now that he knew there were actual Angels on the other side of the island, connected only by the bridge, he understood why there was a patrol at all.

 

Angels were the absolute worst monsters on the island. He'd grown up hearing about how different and dangerous they were. According to the adults around the community, they were creatures that had fangs, razor sharp claws, and multiple pairs of eyes. He'd grown up hearing how large they were, how they could tear him apart limb from limb without breaking a sweat. To add to that, they had wings that helped them fly. His father was one of the few Hunters that had actually ever managed to kill one.

 

Dean wouldn't ever admit it, but he kind of was scared to meet an Angel.

 

Still, he couldn't just back out of the challenge. He kept walking along the line of the cliff separating the island and boxing in the deep river that flowed between the two halves. He was beginning to think he was never going to find a way to get across when he heard a twig snap behind him.

 

Dean whirled around, heart in his throat, but it was just Bobby and Rufus, both holding their bows and staring at him.

 

“What are you doing?” Bobby asked, crossing his arms and staring at him disapprovingly.

 

Dean immediately plastered on a smile. “I'm walking along the cliff.”

 

“Uh huh,” Rufus said slowly, arching an eyebrow at him doubtfully. “And just what in the hell are you doing something like that for?”

 

“Watch your mouth,” Bobby chastised him distractedly, reaching over to smack him on the shoulder with practiced ease. “What would happen if you fell in, Dean? That's a pretty far drop.”

 

Rufus rolled his eyes. “Can you even swim?”

 

“I can swim,” Dean huffed, pouting automatically at the insinuation that he couldn't.

 

“Do you have any idea what this place would be like if something happened to you, boy?” Bobby scolded him, frowning.

 

_“Him?_ Shit, do you know what would happen to us? Your father would kill us, Dean,” Rufus told him, jutting his hands out wildly.

 

Bobby shot him a look. “Language in front of the kid, Rufus. But he's right, Dean. You have to be more careful. One day, you're gonna be the Head Hunter, and that day ain't gonna come if you keep risking your skin like this.”

 

“But I don't know if I wanna be the Head Hunter,” Dean muttered, scowling at them.

 

“And why not?” Bobby challenged, both eyebrows lifting up in surprise.

 

Dean hadn't actually ever admitted that before, and he wasn't sure why he was now, but he was so tired of everyone telling him that he'd have to be a leader someday. They barely let him do _anything_ because of that, and Dean thought he'd rather be like Jo. She got to do a lot more stuff than him.

 

“Everyone's always telling me I have to be Head Hunter, and that I have to be better, and that I can't do stuff. But I don't wanna be a Head Hunter if I have to be busy like my dad all the time!”

 

Rufus snorted. “Listen, kid, we all got problems. Yours isn't something you should give a damn about right now. Just focus on being careful, and you'll change your mind when your older.”

 

Bobby whirled on Rufus. “How many times have I told you to stop cussing in front of the kids? You never listen to me, Rufus. One of these days, you're gonna wake up dead, I swear. You need—”

 

“Oh, please. It isn't like the kid even notices, Bobby. He doesn't even understand what the words are!”

 

“That doesn't matter! He could pick them up!”

 

“I been taking care of that boy and Sam since they were babies. When have I ever watched my mouth?”

 

Bobby poked Rufus sharply in the chest. “Exactly! How long have I been telling you to stop? One of these days, that's gonna get you in a lot of trouble.”

 

Dean took a measured step back, but they didn't notice. He took another step back when Bobby poked Rufus in the chest again. Rufus gave him a look of disbelief and poked him back.

 

“The boy doesn't give a fuck what I say! He's just—”

 

Dean saw his opening and took it. “Fuck,” he declared loudly and clearly.

 

The reaction was instantaneous. Bobby started yelling in earnest, and Dean knew he had a small window of opportunity to make his escape. He didn't even feel entirely guilty. He knew Bobby and Rufus would be okay; they always were. They bickered like that over nearly everything, but someone else could make one rude comment about either one of them, and the other would be in a brawl on their behalf in a heartbeat. Ellen called them “partners” when she talked about them, whatever that meant.

 

But Dean had his freedom.

 

He continued his path along the cliff's edge, keeping himself out of sight along the edge of the trees. He walked for a little while longer before the cliff started lowering, bringing the river closer to the top. It wasn't long before there was a clear incline in the distance, and Dean wondered if he could simply pass across the river to get to the other side.

 

Before he could find out, he saw a large tree blocking his path. Dean glared at it and kicked it with his shoe. And looking across the gap between the other side of the island, Dean could see that tree stretched across and blocked the other side. There really was only one way to get across the island.

 

Wait.

 

Dean looked from one end of the tree to the other. It stretched all the way across the two sides, nature's way of giving him a bridge. He didn't even think twice, just pulled himself on the top of the fallen tree and started to shimmy across.

 

He thought about getting up and balancing his way over, but by the time he got a fourth of the way, he could see the river below him, and it was a lot farther down than he thought. He had to stop and cling to the trunk of the tree when his limbs started shaking. But essentially dangling over the open chasm was worse than making his way to the other side, so he kept on going, eager to get to solid land.

 

Fortunately, he made it across without falling to his death. He clambered down from the tree excitedly, just pleased to be safe. Then, as his feet hit solid ground, he realized exactly where he was.

 

Dean hadn't ever been to this side of the island before. He'd heard stories from the adults that said it was much more dangerous than the side he lived on, but actually… it looked exactly the same. Well, the cliffside did anyway.

 

He'd gotten this far, but he wasn't sure how to go about getting a feather to bring back to Sam. He wasn't just going to go deep in the forest and ask for one, so he decided to keep on walking towards the incline in case he had to rush towards his side of the island really quickly.

 

The more Dean stared at the forest, the more he realized that it looked different than the forest on his side of the island did.

 

The forest on his side was thinner and gave way to the beach really quickly. It had a distinct feel of warmth, and sunlight made its way all the way to the forest’s floor. But the forest he was walking beside now was nothing like that. The trees were thicker, colder, and he couldn't make out any sunlight within them, even though he could feel it on his skin.

 

Dean was so entranced, and honestly, a little scared, that he didn't watch the path in front of him.

 

When he collided with something, he let out a shriek as he tumbled to the ground with whatever he'd knocked into. He rolled with a huff, disentangling himself from whatever he'd landed in a heap with, and shoved himself back. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he took in what he'd bumped into.

 

An _Angel._

 

The only reason he knew it was an Angel, was because of the wings. Nothing else he'd ever heard about the Angels appeared to be true at all. Dean was a little miffed that he'd been lied to his whole life.

 

The Angel wasn't all that frightening, not like the adults had claimed. He was as young as Dean with blue eyes and messy hair. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd think he was just a regular kid. There was nothing different about him; he had only one pair of eyes, his nails weren't long and razor sharp, and he didn't appear to have any fangs poking out over his lip. The only thing that matched the description he was given were black wings that were protruding from his back, draping down to his elbow.

 

The Angel tilted his head at him, big blue eyes blinking rapidly. “Where are your wings?” he asked, voice soft and curious.

 

Dean swallowed. “I don't have any.”

 

The boy took a step forward, and his wings twitched slightly as he moved. “What _are_ you?”

 

“Stay back!” Dean blurted, holding his hands up, palms facing out in warning.

 

“Oh,” he said slowly, lips tipping down, “you must be one of _them.”_

 

“Excuse you, I'm going to be Head Hunter one day!” Dean exclaimed, annoyed by his disgusted tone. While he wasn't exactly looking forward to it, he knew that title held weight.

 

Or it did, usually. The boy looked unimpressed. “What are you doing over here?” he asked.

 

Dean wasn't sure how to answer that question, so he asked one of his own. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

 

“I'm usually by myself,” the boy replied, tilting his head in confusion.

 

“Really?” Dean asked, unable to stop himself from being in awe of that. “Wow, that's so cool.”

 

Blue eyes brightened, and the boy shifted a bit closer to Dean. “You really think so?”

 

“Yeah! My dad doesn't want me to go anywhere alone,” Dean admitted. He was quick to add, “But I do it anyway. I'm Dean, by the way.” He held out his hand for the boy to shake.

 

The boy just stared at it. “I'm Castiel.”

 

“Wow, you Angels sure have really weird names.”

 

“And you Hunters don't have wings.”

 

Dean shuffled in his place, quickly dropping his hand when it became clear that Castiel was not going to take it. “Can you fly?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel replied, lips quirking in a small smile when Dean's eyes grew wide. “I fly all the time. Would you like to see?”

 

Dean knew he shouldn't, but he _really_ did want to see it. Anyone who had ever talked about the Angels said that they were much more dangerous in the air, but Castiel didn't seem dangerous at all. He actually looked relatively normal, outside of the wings arched from his shoulders, just draped down his back like they were meant to be there.

 

“I don't know, Castiel,” Dean said, but paused when the name came out sounding nothing like Castiel had pronounced it. He could feel his face heating at the lisp from his mouth, embarrassed that the name couldn't form correctly.

 

“Cas-tee-el,” Castiel corrected.

 

“Casteel,” Dean tried, for sure blushing that time when it came out wrong. “I'm sorry… I have— _had_ a lisp. I fixed it, I swear, but—”

 

“Call me Cas,” Castiel said quickly, his small smile patient and kind on his face.

 

Dean nodded quickly. “Um, thanks.”

 

“Do you wish to see me fly?”

 

“My dad says Angels are more dangerous in the air.”

 

Castiel scowled at him, smile falling away and disappearing. “And I'm sure you just listen to whatever your father tells you.”

 

“No!” Dean denied immediately. “Go ahead, fly, I'm not scared of you.”

 

“Fine, come with me,” Castiel said, abruptly turning and leading him down the incline, close to the embankment towards the river.

 

Dean followed him, eyes wide on the pair of wings suspended in the air. In a strange way, they looked like a really big backpack the way they sat on his back. The ends brushed his elbow as he walked, seeming like any other limb. Dean stumbled a bit closer, trying to get a better look at them.

 

“They're not just black,” Dean blurted out, noticing the hues of red streaking the ends.

 

Castiel looked over his shoulder, one wing obligingly dipping down so he could pin his gaze on Dean. He looked confused. “Yes, they are.”

 

“No, they're red too,” Dean insisted.

 

“No, that is blood.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“I couldn't reach to get it off in the stream. Grooming isn't until later, so I have to wait for Gabriel to wash it off,” Castiel informed him casually.

 

Dean was struck with horror. The wings had a few streaks of blood, and he had no idea what had happened. Castiel simply walked on, edging closer to the river as they got level with it. But Dean was mystified that Castiel had blood on his wings.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Anna gets a bit rough when we play. Her fingernails are very sharp,” Castiel told him, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Play? Someone made you bleed by _playing?”_

 

“Well… yes? That hasn't ever happened to you before? It was just an accident.”

 

“No, the other kids aren't allowed to be rough with me or Sam. We never really get hurt.”

 

“Oh, I see.” Castiel looked slightly wistful for a moment, then shook his head. “Well, it's nothing to worry about. Now, are you watching?”

 

Dean took a few careful steps back to see. He could hear the river rushing behind him, but he ignored it in favor of focusing fully on Castiel.

 

The wings previously lazing about at his back flared out wide, snapping out abruptly. Dean flinched, mouth falling open, but Castiel simply blinked at him. They didn't actually look as big as the adults had described Angel wings; if Castiel were to hold his arms out, the wings would only be about three inches longer. They were wide though, the depth of them starting at the shoulder and ending about mid-chest.

 

“Wow,” Dean breathed out, unable to stop himself.

 

“I haven't even done anything,” Castiel told him seriously, but his eyes were bright with childish joy.

 

With that, the wings fluttered before giving one great flap, sending Castiel careening into the air. It was awkward and a bit uncoordinated, his wings seemingly not confident in its abilities. His body pitched to the side, his hands pinwheeling, and he let out a startled huff as he fell back to the ground, landing on his butt with an _oomph._ His eyebrows dipped as he scowled, little arms coming up to cross over his chest as his wings twitched behind him.

 

Dean clapped and hopped in place, thoroughly entertained by the display. “Wow, that is so cool! You can _actually_ fly!”

 

Castiel's face brightened and he scrambled to his feet, mindlessly pushing his wings back. “Did you like it? I'm still learning, but I can hover in the air better than last year!”

 

“That was awesome, Cas!” Dean bit his lip for a moment, then shuffled back another step. “I kinda wish I had wings.”

 

“That's okay, we can still be friends,” Castiel reassured him quickly.

 

“Really? That's… good.” Dean felt warm in his chest. His eyes lit up when he got an idea. “Hey, can I have a feather from your wings?”

 

“Do you really want one?”

 

“Yeah! My brother, Sammy, said I couldn't get one, but we're friends, so you can just give me one.”

 

Castiel considered him for a moment, then he shrugged. “Okay,” he said, reaching over to pull one of his wings forward. He shifted the feathers aside to reveal more underneath, clean and a lighter shade of black than the rest. “Here you go, Dean.”

 

Castiel walked over, letting his wing go as he yanked the feather out. Dean winced in sympathy, but it didn't seem to hurt, so he grabbed it. The feather was soft in his hands, and he grinned as he stroked it, beaming at Castiel.

 

“Thank you!” Dean exclaimed, taking a few more steps back so he could fistpump the air without hitting Castiel. “Sam is gonna—”

 

The rest of his words were lost in his throat as the earth suddenly gave way under his feet. The feather fluttered from his hand, drifting to the ground, as his body tipped back. The river's loud background noise suddenly took over all his senses as it rushed up to him. He let out an automatic shout as he fell, but it was cut off abruptly as he plunged into the water.

 

Water filled Dean's mouth, and he gulped it down as he started flailing, trying to kick for the surface. He knew how to swim—he lived on a _beach—_ but the river was yanking him in too many directions. The current was far too strong, jerking him under and downstream. He tried to scream, tried to yell, but he only managed to come up for air, gasp and sputter, before he was pulled back down.

 

Dean hadn't ever been truly scared before. This was worse than his father's heavy steps moving towards his room; this was worse than losing the bank of sand beneath his feet as he went too far out into the ocean; this was much worse than coming home from playing to find out that his mom would never be around anymore. He was well and truly terrified, a blackness taking over his mind that could only produce the vague delirious feeling that he was about to die.

 

Then, a small hand closed around his wrist, and he was lifted out of the water for one brief moment of reprieve. He gasped and blinked around bleary eyes, looking up to see Castiel's wings beating in the air furiously as they held both his and Dean's weight.

 

“Cas!” he yelled, trying desperately to hold onto his hand. “Help me, I'm slipping!”

 

Castiel's face was twisted in concentration and strain, his hands scrambling for Dean's. His eyes widened in shock and panic as his wings suddenly flapped too hard, yanking him up and away. Dean plunged back down with a scream.

 

Just like that, he was drowning again.

 

He wasn't sure how long he went without air, but he was aching all over when he came up again. He saw the glimpse of black heading straight for him, and there were arms wrapping around him under his arms. Castiel's wings moved furiously as he tipped down, locking them in a strange embrace and wrenching at him.

 

The grip was entirely too tight, but Dean clung to Castiel, fingers digging into his skin, whimpering as he was lifted slightly out of the water. The river still rushed at his waist, yanking at his legs relentlessly, but Castiel kept a firm hold.

 

Dean could see fear in his wide blue eyes.

 

He could feel them moving across the river, and he knew that they were heading towards his side. He couldn't bring himself to care, just wanting the safety of ground beneath him.

 

Things were absolutely not fine, but it took a quick turn for the worst when Castiel's wings flapped out of order, sending him sailing to the side. He tumbled right into the river, pulling them both under with a shout. Dean grabbed onto the only thing he could, fingers clenching into Castiel's wings, acutely aware that his grip probably hurt.

 

But Cas refused to let him go, even in the water. His arms stayed around Dean, so tight that he was sure to have bruises if they lived through this.

 

More than once, the wings smacked Dean in his face as they tried to right themselves. The water rushed over their heads, choking them, and Dean kicked and clawed with all his might. Nothing seemed to be working. His head throbbed painfully and he couldn't catch his breath. His lungs burned as more water cascaded in, taking up the space oxygen was supposed to.

 

Without warning, they raised above the surface again, Castiel hacking and sputtering roughly in his ear. Dean clenched his eyes closed tight and buried his face in Castiel's tiny shoulder, wanting to live _so bad,_ so terrified that they wouldn't.

 

Then, the roar of the waves dimmed, and for a terrifying moment, Dean thought they were under the water again, the river muffled as they drowned. But there was ground underneath his back, and Castiel was breathing heavily, groaning.

 

“Dean,” he croaked, trying to pull back, “are you okay?”

 

Dean was not okay.

 

He kept his eyes clenched shut, hands fisted in each wing, face buried in Castiel's neck. His whole body was shaking, and he was positive he was crying. He knew he wasn't, but he still felt like he was drowning. He couldn't catch his breath, his limbs still trembled like they were being yanked on, and his mind still had the blankness of panic.

 

Castiel didn't seem to know what to do for a moment, so he simply laid there. He was sprawled out on Dean, little body covering his.

 

The weight was actually comforting, and Dean managed to open his eyes after a few moments. Castiel was staring down at him in concern, clearly just as shaken up as Dean. When it became clear that Dean was slowly relaxing, he started to pull away again.

 

Dean swallowed as he disentangled his hands from Castiel's wings. “That was a close one,” he croaked, wincing at his sore throat.

 

“Yes, it was,” Castiel agreed, rolling off of Dean and laying on his back beside him.

 

“Oh.” Dean blinked down at his hand. One of them held a wet feather, the soft part clumping together from the water. “I'm sorry, Cas. I—I didn't mean to—”

 

“It's okay. It didn't hurt,” Castiel assured him, turning his head to look at him with a small smile.

 

Dean held it out. “Here.”

 

“Keep it,” Castiel said.

 

“Thank you,” Dean told him, pocketing the wet feather and staring at Castiel. “You saved me.”

 

Castiel nodded. “I had to. We're friends.”

 

Dean let out a deep breath, the panic finally all seeping out of him. He was left with nothing but relief, the near-miss filling him with giddiness. He broke out into giggles, and Castiel slowly joined him, their laughter slowly growing in volume.

 

Castiel stood when their laughter dissipated, leaving them grinning at each other. He walked over and held out his hand, his wings tucked back close to his back, dripping water into the dirt. Dean took it and let himself be pulled up, grinning.

 

Dean had all intentions of hugging Castiel, because he was happy and thankful, but a sudden hand on his shoulder made him freeze. The hand gripped him far too tight, thick fingers draping over his small shoulder, and Dean's stomach dropped. He knew it was his father before he even looked up.

 

John had his eyes fixed on Castiel, his other hand holding his knife. Castiel was glaring up at him, smile long gone, tiny fists clenched. Dean couldn't contain a whimper when he turned and saw Sam standing behind Bobby and Rufus, his face poking out around them to watch with wide, frightful eyes.

 

Before John could say, or do, anything, there was a large gust of wind that all had them looking up. A woman landed smoothly behind Castiel, bangs swooping over her forehead, mouth pinched tight.

 

Whereas Cas only wore brown slacks, the woman wore grey armor adorned with dark feathers. Dean could see that the chest-piece had an open back, leaving room for dark grey wings to expand from her back. They were much bigger than Castiel's, flinging out wide and tall.

 

“Naomi,” John growled harshly.

 

The woman in question, Naomi, twisted her lips into something like a bitter smirk. “John Winchester.”

 

“What cause do you have to be here?” John barked, nails digging into Dean's shoulder.

 

“You have _my son,”_ she hissed, narrowing her eyes at them. Her gaze turned cold when she flicked it down to Castiel.

 

“You and _your son_ are trespassing, Naomi. This side of the island does not allow for Angels. You know what happens when you cross to our land.” John raised his blade threateningly.

 

_“Your_ land!” Naomi sputtered, eyes going wide with fury. “This land belongs to Zachariah! You have _no_ right to it.” As quickly as the ire had gripped her, it fell away. She stood tall and shoved Castiel forward with a sharp gaze. “No matter, if you want an Angel's head, you may have it.”

 

Dean's eyes widened as Castiel threw a terrified look up to his mother. There was a tense moment, and Dean spent the entirety of it trembling, just staring into Castiel's wide eyes. The hand clenching his shoulder tightened even more, and Dean couldn't hide a wince at the pain radiating from it.

 

“You are to take your son and leave, Naomi. Do not return to this side of the island; you should remember your place,” John ordered tersely.

 

Naomi's eyes darkened and her lips curled into something menacing. “Oh, John,” she hissed wickedly, _“we will.”_

 

She reached down and wrapped both hands around Castiel's wings, gripping them close to his back, and launched then both in the air. He dangled in her grasp, face twisted in a grimace. But he was a lot braver than Dean had thought, because he lifted a hand in a parting wave as they sailed back to their side of the island.

 

Knowing he'd regret it, Dean waved back.

 

When they disappeared into the trees, John whirled him around and marched him silently towards the beach. Bobby and Rufus walked ahead, each holding one of Sam's hands. Sam kept throwing him guilty looks, clearly scared of what's to come. Dean, himself, was terrified of what was going to happen. His dad hadn't said one word, but he could _feel_ the anger seeping off of him in thick waves; it felt like they were clogging his throat, choking him and making it nearly impossible to breathe.

 

They walked all the way through the forest, and John yanked him to a stop just as the trees gave way to the beach. He could see their hut ahead, and he really wanted to go home, curl up in his bed, and maybe cry a little.

 

Bobby and Rufus paused, looking back at them, and Sam's lip quivered. Whatever showed on John's face couldn't have been good, but Dean was too scared to look up and glimpse it himself. The look must have also told Bobby and Rufus that they had no say in this, because they both started walking again, leading Sam away, looking reluctant.

 

John's hand released his shoulder finally, making the area ache even more as the blood rushed back to the spot. “What,” he growled, “were you _thinking?”_

 

Dean knew he'd be in even more trouble if he didn't look at his dad when he spoke, so he lifted his chin. The pure anger and disgust in his father's eyes had tears springing to his own.

 

“I'm sorry, I just—”

 

“Are you deliberately defying me, or are you just plain stupid?”

 

“No,” Dean whimpered, heart thundering in his chest as his grip on his tears slipped. “No, Dad, I—I wasn't trying to defy you, I swear.”

 

“What were you doing with the Angel?” John asked harshly, glaring down at Dean.

 

“Nothing, I just met him. He didn't seem too bad, Dad, really,” Dean admitted weakly, sniffling.  

 

John's hand snapped out, palm open. Dean's eyes grew wide as it stopped just a few inches from his cheek. The hand balled into a fist and jerked back, falling back to its place at John's side. He stared at his father in shock, and for the first time in his life, _dread._ John looked away for a moment, jaw clenched, and when he glanced back, his eyes were blazing bright with _more_ anger.

 

“Do you think, even for one moment, that the Angel that you met today would be able to save you from his mother if she managed to get her hands on you? He wouldn't be able to save you, Dean. And hear me now, if you _ever_ go to their side before it is time again, I will leave you to be torn apart by them. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Dean's stomach was tied into knots, skin crawling at the image his father had conjured. Castiel may have not been bad, but the same couldn't be said about Naomi. He knew he'd never go to that side of the island before he was an adult ever again. But he was much more aware of something else; he would never be able to look at his father the same either.

 

His father had done many things—refuse him food, yelled, said horrible things that stuck with him through the years—but he'd _never_ made to hit him before.

 

He gave a stiff nod. “Yes sir.”

 

“There are very few things that permit an Angel to be on this side of the island, and I will _not_ allow you to activate one of them by mistake. So help me, Dean, if you don't stay away from—”

 

“I said, yes sir.”

 

John's mouth slammed shut, his rant cut off by words far sterner than any ten-year-old had rights to. His mouth set into a thin line. “You will never disrespect me again, you will listen to _everything_ I tell you to do, and if you cannot stop being _weak,_ I will not hesitate to shut you off from everyone until you learn. Am I understood? Can you figure _that_ out?”

 

“Yes sir,” Dean croaked, swallowing, his defensiveness evaporating like smoke as the threat settled with him.

 

“Good.” John turned on his heel and started to walk away, but he paused and looked over his shoulder at Dean. “You will not be eating today, nor tomorrow. You are to stay in your room for a week. You will think about what you have done extensively.”

 

Dean nodded again. “Yes sir.”

 

With that, John stomped away, leaving him on the edge of the woods alone.

 

Dean slowly walked to his hut, heart in his throat. He kept his head down as tears pricked at his eyes. He dragged himself into the hut and was nearly knocked off his feet as Sam's arms were thrown around him.

 

“Did you get in lots and lots of trouble?” Sam mumbled, words muffled into Dean's stomach.

 

Dean winced at Sam's grip on him, already sore from Castiel's. “Yeah, I'm in trouble for now. Gotta stay in my room alone for a week.”

 

“I'll talk to you through the door,” Sam offered, lifting his head to look at him sadly.

 

“No, it's fine,” Dean reassured him, ruffling his hair fondly. “A week will pass and everything will go back to normal, I promise.”

 

Sam looked doubtful, but he nodded. “Okay. So, did ya get the feather?”

 

“I don't really want to talk about it, Sammy.” Dean tried to smile when Sam looked sad, but he couldn't really manage it. “Besides, Dad will have my hide if I don't get in my room.”

 

“Bobby said you almost drowned,” Sam mumbled, eyes wide. “Is it my fault?”

 

“What?” Dean blinked in surprise. “Why would it be your fault? You didn't push me in.”

 

Sam bit his lip, little throat bobbing. “I gave you the shell that was gonna drown.”

 

Mystified, Dean dropped one of his arms off Sam's shoulder and dug in the pocket the feather wasn't in. The small grey shell Sam had given him sat in his palm, jagged and light. Dean had forgotten it; the time he'd taken it from Sam seemed worlds away now. He remembered very abruptly that Sam had dreamed that it was drowning, but something had managed to save it.

 

Dean swallowed thickly, mind full of Castiel. “Actually, Sam, I… _think_ this shell helped save me from drowning.”

 

“What if my dreams come true?” Sam asked in obvious concern, arms tightening around Dean in an unabashed effort for comfort.

 

“Then, dream only good things,” Dean murmured, looking down at him with a faint smile. “Promise me.”

 

At six years old, Sam looked as if he was just given the most important mission of his life. “I promise,” he swore, bobbing his head seriously.

 

Nodding in a pleased fashion, Dean slipped the shell back in his pocket, vowing to keep it forever. He reached up and put his hand on Sam's head, lightly ruffling his steadily-growing hair.  “Alright, good. I should be getting to my room now, Sammy.”

 

“Okay, Dean,” Sam said simply, dropping his arms and backing away. He looked worried, far more worried than any six-year-old should.

 

Dean reached out and tapped his arm with his fist, managing a smile better that time. “Everything is fine, Sam. I'm gonna go in my room, but nothing has changed, I swear.”

 

Sam looked even more doubtful that time, but he made no move to stop Dean as he headed to his room. The quiet atmosphere and comfortable bed that waited for him actually brought him a sense of relief as he entered his room and shut the door.

 

He flopped down on his bed and immediately pulled the feather out, staring at it. Still clumped but dry, Dean held it above his face. He carefully reached up smoothed out the parts that should have been fixed, swallowing thickly as tears leaked a hot path from the sides of his eyes.

 

He'd only lied to Sam; nothing was the same anymore, and Dean had the feather to prove it.


	2. Part Two

_Praise the bridge that carried you over_

_-George Colman_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean was only twenty-six years old when he learned that bridges could be found anywhere, sometimes in the place least expected.

 

Staring into the mirror, Dean only saw his reflection looking back at him. He looked ready for this, dressed in a dusty leather vest over his Henley and sturdy, thick jeans with a weapon belt slung around his hips. But as he flicked his gaze over his form, he couldn't help but be slightly on edge.

 

He wasn't quite sure why he was nervous. He'd been training for this, specifically _this,_ for over a decade. Dean rolled his shoulders, popping his neck as he leaned his head side-to-side. He could do this, he _would_ do this.

 

“Everyone is waiting.”

 

Dean's eyes jerked up to look in the mirror over his own shoulder. Sam was leaning in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets. He looked relaxed and calm, but there was a strain around his eyes that told just how wary he was. Dean turned on his heel, adjusting the knife holster against his thigh.

 

“They can wait a bit longer. Anticipation is good for the lungs.” Dean crossed his arms a took a deep breath, dreading his next question. “What'd you dream, Sammy?”

 

Sam frowned slightly. “You know the dreams aren't just clear pictures.”

 

“No, they're not, but you've gotten good at interpreting them. So, what am I looking at here?”

 

“I don't choose the dreams, Dean.”

 

“I know,” Dean said, pursing his lips for a brief moment. “But you're looking at me like ya ain't never gonna see me again. Spit it out, man.”

 

“I think you'll be okay. I mean, it's not as simple as seeing something and making sense of it, you know? I dreamt of fire, but there was a feeling, like things were going to be okay after going impossibly wrong.”

 

“So, in another words, I could die in a fire and things will be alright, or I can start a fire and survive it.”

 

Sam gave him one of his stronger bitch faces. “You know that's not how it works.”

 

“Either way, you're worried.” Dean lifted a hand and gestured to Sam, jerking his eyebrows up.

 

“Well, I'd be worried if I had a dream or not. You _are_ going on an actual hunt, dude. Not just some training, plus you'll be alone. I dunno, maybe…”

 

“Sam, I'm _fine._ I'm going to be fine. Nothing is going to happen. I'll be back before dinner; there ain't no way in hell I'm missing Ellen's rabbit stew.”

 

“Alright, just… just be careful, okay?” Sam mumbled, moving forward abruptly to yank him into a tight hug.

 

Dean blinked rapidly, but eased into the hug, wrapping his arms around his overgrown brother. He guided Sam in like he was still twelve and chubby, simply by habit alone. It had been a long time since they'd shown any familial affection, and where it was supposed to comfort him, the tight grip had a solid weight settling in his gut, making him anxious.

 

They broke apart with simultaneous clearing of their throats, clapping each other on the back and shoulders. It had been broken into them from a young age by their father and many men around the community that physical affection wasn't exactly a sign of strength. The moment they'd went from wide eyed innocent children to boys eager to become men, they had been reintroduced to a whole new world that lacked warmth and comfort.

 

It was normal, now, and Dean was rather used to it.

 

“Dad will have a conniption if I don't head out there soon,” Dean announced, jerking his head towards the front door of their hut. “Head on out; I'll follow you in a second.”

 

Sam just nodded and ducked out the room, disappearing around the corner. Dean immediately whirled around to look at himself in the mirror across the room. He looked small in his reflection now, as he'd moved away. He gave himself one more quick glance, standing tall and straightening his shoulders.

 

Strolling through the hut, Dean forced himself to keep his head held high. He could already hear the jeering and loud whoops of laughter coming from outside. The community would use any chance to celebrate, but this occasion was traditionally handled that way. Anytime someone went off on their first hunt, people were supposed to celebrate in their name until they returned; it had some shit to do with putting good vibes towards the hunter in question.

 

But Dean knew what it really was.

 

The celebration was nothing more than the other hunters getting together and making bets on whether the new hunter would survive or not. People would drink and sing all day, well on into the night, and they'd trash the beach—the women _despised_ cleaning that up the next day.

 

Dean took a deep breath before he exited the hut, making sure not to show an ounce of his nervousness. The loud noise grew as he stepped outside, clumping down the steps.

 

As per usual, everyone quieted to watch the new hunter walk past them, murmurs following his every step towards the woods.

 

_“He's gotten so grown now.”_

 

_“Walks just like John did on his first hunt.”_

 

_“That boy ain't gon’ last an hour.”_

 

Dean ignored the mutterings the best he could, approaching the small group huddled at the edge of the woods. His father, Bobby, Rufus, Sam, and Ellen waited there, watching him approach. They'd escort him to the bridge and watch him cross it, uncertain as to whether he'd ever walk back over it again.

 

John gave a jerky nod. “Ready?”

 

Dean knew there was only one answer acceptable to that. “Yes, sir.”

 

There wasn't any talking after that.

 

The walk through the woods to the bridge was a lot shorter than it seemed when he was a kid. It hadn't changed in the last sixteen years, and he could still see the sun beaming down through the thin trees. As they grew thinner, the bridge came into view.

 

Dean hadn't been to the other side of the island since he was ten. He'd been set up to patrol with some of the other men when he was twenty, and he'd been doing that for six years, but he'd never once crossed to the other side. He hadn't ever wanted to, not with the disappointment that always existed in his father's eyes since the fateful day he'd met an Angel.

 

Cas.

 

Dean remembered him, but he rarely thought of him anymore. He probably hadn't considered him in years, and he could barely remember any details about him. All he acknowledged about that experience was that it was where his life derailed. He hadn't ever looked at things the same, and his father hadn't ever let it go; he hadn't ever mentioned it again, and though he acted as if it was water under the bridge, he hadn't moved on, not _really._

 

They all stopped at the end of the bridge, and Dean simply waited for them to say what they had to say in case he didn't make it back.

 

“You be safe out there, Dean,” Ellen told him, moving over to squeeze his arm in reassurance.

 

Dean gave her a brief smile. “I will be.”

 

“Me and Bobby didn't go through all the pain of raising your annoying ass just so you'd get yourself killed,” Rufus announced shamelessly, walking up to lightly tap his fist to Dean's shoulder. “You better be home in time for dinner, ya hear?”

 

“You got it,” Dean murmured, lips twitching.

 

“Rufus is right,” Bobby said, joining Rufus at his side to look up at Dean with a frown. “You do what you gotta do, Dean, and then come _home.”_

 

Dean couldn't do anything but nod at that, a helpless warmth blooming in his chest. Knowing what he knew now, he realized all the things Bobby and Rufus did for him and Sam. No one would dare say it, not to John at least, but they did more for him than his own father ever had. They were proud of him, worried… but proud.

 

Sam wouldn't hug him again, not here, but he did clap him on the shoulder, throat bobbing. “Watch out for any fire, okay?”

 

“Of course.” Dean huffed a laugh. “Take care of Baby till I get back.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes dropping his hand, and sarcastically said, “Yes, I will guard your turtle with my life. She will be fine.”

 

With that, Dean turned to the last person who would speak to him before he potentially died.

 

“Do not fail me,” John told him, stepping to the side and swinging out an arm. “You better not come back until you've successfully killed a monster.”

 

“Could take awhile,” Dean mumbled, stepping up to the edge of the bridge.

 

John stared at him with a stony glare. “Then take awhile to return.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

John turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Dean on one side of the bridge. Dean looked over his shoulder to watch them head back, leaving him to his fate; his stomach clenched when they disappeared into the woods. He pivoted around to face the bridge, took a deep breath, and walked across.

 

 

 

 

 

The forest on the side of the island he'd never been on before consisted mostly of darkness.

 

Dean was well aware that it was daylight, but the tops of the trees stretched far and wide, thick enough to block any sunlight and drop the temperature noticeably. The forest almost seemed alive, sounds coming from each direction, mostly growls but also the occasional telltale noise from an animal. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he felt as if eyes followed every step he took.

 

He kept his machete unsheathed and delved deeper into the woods, each step moving him to a world he'd never been a part of before.

 

The air was denser here, thick and heady; he swore he could taste blood on his tongue—coppery and a clear warning to tuck tail and run. The back of his neck prickled and goosebumps broke out over his skin, making his heart race as anxious energy overtook him. Everything about this side of the island felt like a clear threat, warning him away.

 

Instead, he pushed on.

 

Dean had been assured that he'd find some monster to kill sooner rather than later. Calling what they did—what he was doing—hunting was actually mockery of the real thing. No, he'd been told how easy it was to trip upon a monster, especially with him as bait.

 

They were not wrong.

 

It wasn't long before he heard a twig snap from his right. Heart skyrocketing, Dean whirled to the noise, machete raised preemptively. A sharp whistle crooned from behind him, making his twist in that direction. Then, from his right, bushes started rustling. Laughter broke out, tuning into the whistle that repeated sharply on a loop.

 

Dean's stomach dropped when he realized he was surrounded by… _something._

 

“Oh-ho, what do we have here?” a voice drifted out, echoing from the surrounding trees.

 

“Show yourself!” Dean called out, moving in half-circles, trying to keep every direction in his sights all at once.

 

A woman spoke then, a high-pitched laugh slimming towards him sickeningly. “Oh, look how scared he is! Just a baby, out here on his own.”

 

Dean had not been called a baby in _years,_ and he wouldn't stand for it from one of these stupid sons-of-bitches. He planted his feet shoulder-length apart and kept his eyes peeled for movement, ears straining. Things went eerily quiet.

 

Then, from right behind him, “You made a mistake coming out here, you dumb mother—”

 

The machete sliced through the monster's neck almost too easily. He shouldn't have been surprised; he'd been sharpening the blade since he was twelve. What did surprise him was how human the monster looked, except for the ugly teeth that twisted his mouth into a snarl ready to rip at flesh.

 

“Got that wrong, fucker,” Dean muttered, twisting back around quickly.

 

In the time it had taken him to kill one werewolf, he was surrounded by three more. One was simple enough; he just had to take off the head. But three? Yeah, that was a bit of a challenge.

 

“Shouldn't have done that,” the female werewolf told him, advancing a few steps forward, telltale werewolf eyes shimmering in the dim environment.

 

Dean held up his hands, the machete reflecting off her eyes. “Whoa, whoa, calm down,” he told her causally, “we can talk about this, can't we?”

 

“You won't be able to talk when I rip your tongue from your mouth and eat it!” she snarled.

 

“Ew,” Dean muttered, wrinkling his nose, “gross.”

 

That, apparently, crossed the line, and with a wave of her hand, they started moving forward. There wasn't really anything else to do but turn on his heel and _run._

 

He could hear the pounding of three pairs of feet behind him, bare feet quieter than his boots on the forest floor. There wasn't any possible way he could take them on at once, but if he could separate them, he would manage just fine. He risked a glance over his shoulder, groaning at the sight of them rushing after him as one unit.

 

The running wasn't an issue; he'd been running a mile at full speed as per his father's demand for _years_ now. It was the terrain that was a problem.

 

As far as the eye could see, there were trees and vines and very little paths to stick to. It was smarter to take the routes that clearly weren't explored; at least if it was hard for him, it'd be hard for them too.

 

There were structures deep in the thickets, towards the center of the forest. Small sheds, or cabins falling apart, or random shelters that couldn't pass for anything at all. As the strain in his muscles grew more noticeable, the pinching and burning in his chest worsening, Dean knew he needed a plan.

 

Dean had actually learned a lot from Bobby and Rufus about hunting. He could hear them arguing in his head now. _Most people think that shutting yourself in a secluded place with monsters is a bad idea, but they're just idjits; get yourself alone with 'em, hide, and pick 'em off,_ Bobby had told him plenty of times. Rufus had warned him with, _Dean, don't forget to keep yourself quiet. Them monsters ain't used to being the hunted. You play it right, you'll get out alive; if not… you'll be dead before you can blink._

 

He put on a burst of speed, veering off to the left. The split second decision was enough to give him the gain he needed. Circling back, he led them to the second abandoned cabin he'd passed—it was moderately better than the other as far as structure. Just as they broke through the surrounding trees, he slipped in the cabin and rushed through the whole place, mapping out each of the rooms, then ducked into the closet closest to the door.

 

As he'd hoped, the werewolves followed him. He could hear their taunts as they clamored up the steps, calling out to him, mocking him. They thought they caught him; they were wrong.

 

“Where ya at?” one sang, stomping through the front hall. Dean closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the three of them passing.

 

“Ain't he cute? Thinks hiding is gonna save him; bless his little heart,” the woman jeered, laughing as she walked right past the closet he waited in. “I can't wait to _taste_ your heart. You hear me? I'm gonna enjoy every little _morsel_ of you!”

 

“Jess, shut up and go check the back bedroom. Mark, look in the bathroom. I'll check the kitchen.”

 

With that, they broke off in different directions. Dean didn't wait, toeing off his boots and leaving them in the closet. He silently slipped out and moved towards the kitchen, standing with his back flat against the left side of the doorway. There was the sound of rummaging, cabinets opening and closing. Dean carefully turned his head to look in the room, and when he saw the back of one of the male werewolves, he didn't hesitate.

 

One hand covered his mouth, jerking his head to the side, while the other brought his machete up. Before the werewolf could even flail, he was sawing through the tendons, cutting him into two pieces. Carefully, he laid the body down and sat the head directly on his chest, face pointing towards the doorway.

 

One down, two to go.

 

The next was the bathroom. He didn't have much time; once the werewolf there—Mark, apparently—didn't find him in any of the small spaces, he'd be heading back to the kitchen for orders. So, Dean didn't waste time, just waltzed right in and swung his blade, cutting the head off before the mouth could produce a shout. He caught the body, but the head landed in the sink with a dull thump.

 

Two down, one to go.

 

“Mark? You alright in there?” the woman werewolf yelled out—Jess, her name was. “You didn't trip over your feet didja? Did you find dinner?”

 

_Fuck._

 

Dean slowly let the body sink to the floor, backing out the bathroom and moving towards the open room directly connected to it. As soon as he broke free from the hall, he took a step to the right, waiting at the side of the entrance with his machete raised.

 

“What the _fuck?”_

 

As he'd predicted, Jess stomped out of the bathroom, heading straight towards him. He held his breath and watched her take two steps into the room. Before she could turn and discover him, he reached out and wrapped a free hand around her mouth, tugging her back to his chest. Just as he went to cut her head off, a tongue sweeped out and slid along his palm, taking him by enough surprise that he jerked away, giving her room to elbow him in his stomach and twist from his grasp.

 

“Seriously?” Dean blurted, glaring at her.

 

She smiled sweetly at him. “Just taste-testing, baby cakes. Gotta say, you're tasty. Next time, I'll make sure to _bite,”_ she teased, snapping her teeth together twice and winking.

 

“Are we flirting or fighting? I'm a little confused at this point,” Dean told her, smirking and wiggling his machete pointedly.

 

“We can do both,” she assured him, settling her feet shoulder length apart. “Maybe I'll have my way with you before I have dinner. After all, you did kill all my friends; so… more for me. I should thank you for that, by the way. Tell me, how would you like your reward? Personally, I think you'd look like _beautiful_ all tied up at my mercy, but I'm open to suggestion.”

 

Dean couldn't help it; he chuckled. For a chick about to try and cook him for a meal, she was pretty fucking funny. “How about I just cut your head off and we go from there?”

 

Her lips curled up. “Ooh, kinky.”

 

With that, she lunged. He was reminded sharply of just what she _was_ when her hands balled in his shirt and lifted him clear above her head, sending him landing on his back with all the air pushed from his chest. Her knee landed on his chest, one hand curling around his throat, the other leg spread wide to plant her foot on his hand holding the machete.

 

“Fuck,” he choked out.

 

Her free hand perched on his chest, long nails digging in slightly as she walked two fingers up his torso. “Oh, the things I'm going to do to you.”

 

It was a cheap shot, undoubtedly, but he didn't give a fuck. Shoving his knee up, he hit her right between her legs, making her yell out and twist to the side. He went with the motion, grabbing her wrists and shoving them at her sides, pinning them between his knees as he straddled her. She stared up at him, face twisted in a scowl.

 

“You were saying?” he said, arching an eyebrow as he placed the machete at her neck.

 

“You're a dirty, _naughty_ man, cheating like that,” she murmured, releasing a soft laugh.

 

“This just gets more sexual by the minute,” Dean noted, lips twitching, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

 

“Oh puddin’, everything with me _is,”_ she breathed, licking her lips. “Well, go on, make it quick.”

 

For a moment, one so brief that he wanted to forget it altogether, he wanted to let her go. It was fucked up, but he couldn't help it. He could hear his father through the years, telling him he was nothing more than a monster-lover, all because he'd made friends with an Angel at _ten years old._ But if his father could see him now… the shit he would catch would be through the fucking roof.

 

Still, Jess might have been funny and gave him a good fight, but she _was_ a monster. She _ate_ people, for crying out loud. All he could give her was a quick death, so he grinned cheekily at her and made sure not to look away as she shoved the blade down quickly, watching the life flicker out abruptly.

 

Just like that, it was over.

 

Dean was covered in blood, heart racing, and fucking _done_ with his first hunt. He could turn around, go back home, and be on time for dinner. He grinned as he yanked his blade from Jess’ neck with a _squelch_ and hopped up to go grab his boots from the closet, shuffling back into the sitting room to sit in the rickety chair as he tugged them on.

 

Then, he smelled the smoke.

 

Nose twitching, Dean whirled in his spot, eyes going wide as he glanced out the window. Flames were licking up the side, growing rapidly and slithering in through the splintered wood. Somehow, through all the fighting, he hadn't noticed the cabin being set on fucking _fire._

 

He didn't waste any time; wiping his blade and sheathing it, he hurried towards the front door. The heat was starting to become noticeable, starting to make sweat bead on his skin. He reached out for the knob on the door and immediately cursed when it burnt him. He took a few steps back, heart picking up as panic took over.

 

As calmly as possible, he checked every window and both doors leading from the house. Every single one was surrounded in fire, and he realized that the whole cabin was. Someone had lit the perimeter when he wasn't paying attention.

 

By the time he stood in the open room again, right next to Jess’ body, he was squinting from the sting in his eyes. Breathing was starting to get harder, oxygen turning to poison in his screaming lungs.

 

In this, he had no idea what the fuck to do.

 

There was nothing he could use to get the doors open, and hell, even if he did fling himself from one of the windows, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't catch fire and burn alive.

 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he thought, whirling around for _something_ to help him in this situation.

 

No one had ever taught him anything about this; he had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to be doing. His survival instincts were screeching at him, demanding he leave, but his body grew weaker by the second. It wasn't long before his head grew fuzzy and he couldn't hold himself up anymore.

 

Right there, right then, he fell to the ground, wheezing and trying to keep his eyes open. Just before he passed out, he thought he could hear one of the windows shattering.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean woke up to fresh air in his lungs and a throbbing head. He stayed just where he was for a moment, taking stock of himself. He was clearly lying on the ground, he could feel twigs and stones underneath his body.

 

Then, he remembered what the fuck happened.

 

Jolting up, Dean's eyes flew open, his head whipping around in surprise. His heart froze in his chest when he realized that, not even a foot from him, an Angel stood. His wings were flared wide, dark as the dead of night, practically shimmering as they fluttered in the air.

 

The Angel wore some sort of armor that Dean hadn't ever seen before.

 

It consisted of a hood with feathers cascading down as if slicked by oil, giving way to glinting iron shoulder pads that were covered in more slick feathers, which fell into tight black sleeves with various daggers strapped to them. Dark straps crossed over his chest, connecting the shoulder pads, and had black feathers dangling from them, brushing his tan skin as they swayed in the breeze. His pants seemed made of the same material of his sleeves, and the bottoms laid about midway over his bare feet.

 

The Angel looked like he was prepared for war, minus the fact that his chest was just out in the open without any protection, but hey, his shoulders wouldn't suffer from any injury anytime soon.

 

Despite the fact that it seemed impractical to Dean's logical mind, it was pretty fucking intimidating; he supposed that was the point.

 

Dean slowly got up, keeping his eyes on the Angel, heart thumping wildly in his chest. “What happened? Where did you take me?”

 

Slowly, the Angel reached up and casually pushed back his hood with a flick of his fingers. Dean was met with a piercing blue gaze, full pink lips tipped down in a frown, and a light splattering of scruff. Squinting, Dean stared at him closer; something about him was… familiar.

 

“I _saved_ your life,” the Angel said, and holy shit, _nothing_ about his voice was familiar. It was low and rough, growling like tides crashing in a storm.

 

Dean swallowed, ignoring the surprise that shivered down his spine. _Surprise,_ he insisted when his brain provided a different term.

 

“Yeah?” Dean asked sarcastically. “Thanks for that.”

 

The Angel's head tilted, eyes narrowing. “You should be thankful; I pulled you out of that fire, and I can certainly throw you back in.”

 

His wings flapped in irritation, as if they were pissed off too. Dean flicked his eyes at them, noticing the smaller feathers closer to his back. Then, it hit him. _Wait, I have one of those feathers,_ he realized.

 

Dean blinked. “Cas?”

 

The Angel tilted his chin up, but his lips twitched for a second. “Hello, Dean.”

 

“Cas, you—you saved me,” Dean blurted out, relaxing his stance. “Again. But… why?”

 

Castiel shrugged and his wings moved with him. He waved a hand. “You needed it.”

 

“No, I was doing just fine on my own!”

 

“Not from where I was standing.”

 

“Then fly the fuck away,” Dean snapped, huffing as he turned around and started in a random direction he hoped pointed him towards home.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Home.”

 

“Do you even know where you are?” Castiel asked him, voice faint with something that could have been amusement or doubt.

 

Dean whirled around, fixing him with a glare. “No, but I'll figure it out. Go away.”

 

“I could take you home,” Castiel offered, arching an eyebrow at him.

 

“Look, I don't _need_ your help. Thank you for saving my life; you've done your good deed for today. Now, I'm going home.” Dean turned back around to walk away and came to a halt.

 

A woman stepped through the trees, barefoot, yellow eyes glinting, mouth twisted in a snarl. Her fists were balled at her sides, chest rising and falling as she directed her angry gaze to Dean.

 

“You,” she declared menacingly.

 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, internally cursing his luck. “Yes, me. Look, can we _not_ right now? I am so ready to leave these woods, you have no idea. So, if you just turn around and walk away, I won't have to kill you today, okay?”

 

“You killed my wife,” she hissed, taking one short step closer to him.

 

“Jess?” Dean guessed. “Sure didn't seem like she was married, to be honest. I actually think we had a bit of a connection.”

 

The woman arched an eyebrow. “We have an agreement. What she brings home to play with is none of my concern so as long as I get a slice. Same in reverse.”

 

“Well, I'm glad you two had it all figured out, but I think the word you're looking for is _brought._ What she brought home, because you know, she's dead now.” Dean tossed up his hands and shrugged, grinning mockingly. “But I'm sure she wouldn't want the same for you, so you should probably—”

 

“I'm going to tear your throat out and make you watch,” she cut him off.

 

“I'm sure you two had great sex; she was a bit kinky as well,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he reached over to take out his machete.

 

Castiel suddenly stepped up beside him, the wing nearest brushing his back. “You will leave or die,” he announced firmly.

 

Her eyes cut him and she paused. “Well, aren't you a treat? Nice appendages you got there, hot wings. Ever heard of the treetop club? We could join it, if you like.” Her smile was sharp and sultry.

 

“I live among the treetops,” Castiel told her, eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

 

Dean pressed his lips together to hide a smile, coughing around a chuckle. “No, dude, she means… _sex_ in the treetops.”

 

She tossed her head back and gave a husky laugh, then focused bright yellow eyes on Castiel. “You would be so much fun.”

 

“Too bad you'll never find out,” Dean chirped, swinging his machete in his hand and marching towards her.

 

Jess was quick, but her wife was tactical. Every move was calculated, hands swiping out, dodging every slash. It took no time at all for her hands to grip his hair, teeth heading straight for his throat. Then, abruptly, she was yanked away.

 

Castiel had her by the hair, shoving her face into the tree beside Dean. It looked like it hurt with how Cas rubbed her face into the bark. He came up behind her and yanked her head away, guiding her by the hair, and she smiled, but her mouth spasmed in obvious pain.

 

“You will not harm Dean Winchester,” Castiel told her seriously.

 

Dean cut his eyes to him. “How do you know my last name? I never—”

 

“Your father is the Head Hunter; I've known the last name Winchester for longer than I've known you. It was not impossible to put together.”

 

“I probably could change your mind, if you'd let me,” the werewolf suddenly spoke up, wincing as she glanced over her shoulder at Castiel. “There are things I could do to you that would make you want to help me kill him.”

 

“I'll just have to take your word for it,” Castiel replied, but his lips twitched. His one hand drifted down to grip her neck from behind, fingers digging in to the flesh.

 

Dean got the distinct feeling that he was the third wheel, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He just coughed awkwardly and cleared his throat, putting his hands behind his back.

 

“And here I thought you Angels were a lot scarier than this,” she taunted, wriggling in his grasp and smirking when his eyes narrowed.

 

Castiel flicked his eyes over her for a moment, considering, then he said, “You will be with your wife now. I will grant you that courtesy.”

 

If he thought that was a comfort, he was very wrong.

 

Dean watched as the werewolf started flailing his grasp, growls ringing out. He moved a couple steps forward, but her hand swung out, connecting heavily with his temple. Her strength was enough to have him stumbling back a few steps, blinking rapidly, and he felt the root behind his boot before he realized he was falling backwards. His eyes were closing from the impact of his head against a tree before he even registered the pain.

 

The last thing he saw was Castiel snap the woman's neck with terrifying ease.

  


 

 

 

  


Dean was tired of being knocked out.

 

Waking up was not fun, especially not when he was swaying. His eyes slipped open, and with a groan, he slammed them shut again. Fuck, his head was _throbbing._ The swaying wasn't helping.

 

“Pu'me'dow,” he mumbled, trying to get the churning in his stomach to stop.

 

“You hit your head very hard, Dean.” Castiel curled his arms under him tighter, positioning him so the sway wasn't as noticeable.

 

Dean waited until he was sure he wouldn't vomit, letting the ache in his head to lessen over time. Once he could open his eyes without a stab to the brain, he looked up at Castiel with a scowl.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“Your home.”

 

“You can put me down now,” Dean told him sharply, not exactly enjoying being held like a bride.

 

Castiel arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, but only because we are here.”

 

With that, Dean was deposited on the ground with less finesse than he'd have liked. Grunting, he stood up and tried to brush the leaves off his shirt where they stuck to the blood there. He glanced around, hand freezing when he realized _exactly_ where they were. When Castiel said he was taking Dean home, he wasn't kidding.

 

“Dude, you have to go back across the bridge,” Dean hissed, gently shoving at his shoulder and looking around for any sign of the patrol. They should have been there, causing a ruckus.

 

“Everyone left when I arrived with you,” Castiel informed him, not budging an inch.

 

“Okay, great, but you have to go back. You can't be here; they'll _kill_ you.”

 

“You sound concerned.”

 

Dean blinked. “Well… yeah. You, uh, saved my life, Cas. I'm not exactly rallying for you to lose yours.”

 

Castiel's head tilted to the side, intense gaze prodding at him curiously. “I was under the impression that you were a Hunter as well. Shouldn't that be your endeavor?”

 

“I _am_ a Hunter,” Dean said, reaching out to put his hand on Castiel's chest and shove him back, “but I'm not hunting you. Seriously, you have to go.”

 

“I can handle myself,” Castiel insisted, planting his feet and not moving when Dean shoved at him again.

 

Dean tried to push him back, tried to get him to move back to his side, but Castiel just stayed immobile under his hand. The chest was as firm as Castiel's gaze, but Dean could feel his stress skyrocketing. If they caught Castiel on this side of the island, there would be nothing he could do if his father decided he needed to die, which he'd probably do just _because_ Castiel saved his life.

 

Fuck, Dean wasn't ever going to live this down.

 

“Please, Cas, just—just _go._ I'm begging you, man.”

 

“And what about you?”

 

Dean swallowed. That was something he didn't want to think about currently. “I'll be fine. Let me handle my people; you go home. _Please.”_

 

Castiel never got to make a decision.

 

Dean jolted when the pounding of feet drew his attention. Mere seconds after, his father and brother broke through the trees, followed closely by Bobby, Rufus, and Ellen. They drew up short at the sight of them, guns and knives drawn before Dean could say anything. Only then did Dean remember to drop his hand and raise them placatingly.

 

“Dean, step away from the Angel,” Ellen said carefully, shotgun pointed right at Castiel.

 

“Wait, he—he didn't do anything,” Dean blurted, taking a step to place himself in front of Castiel.

 

John's eyes blazed and he spat, “Move, _now.”_

 

Sam's gun slowly lowered, but his eyes were wide, throat bobbing. “Dean?” he croaked. “What's going on? Why is—”

 

“Shut up!” John barked, taking a step forward. “Dean, do as I say this instant.”

 

Dean couldn't _believe_ he was doing this, but he jerked his chin up and stood tall. “I can't do that, sir. He saved my life, _twice._ You can't kill him.”

 

“Three times, actually,” Castiel spoke up casually, “if you include when we were children.”

 

“Dude,” Dean hissed through clenched teeth, “not now, please.”

 

Everything dipped into a tense silence. Dean was very aware that, at any moment, this could go to shit. He was standing in front of an _Angel_ as protection, and that was the exact opposite of what he should have been doing. But it was the right thing; deep down, he knew it was.

 

No one said anything, just stared at each other. Most eyes were on Dean and Castiel, assessing the target, preparing for a fight. The realization that Dean was watching his father for the same reasons was like a punch to his gut, knocking the air out of him. Their relationship has always been rocky, _always,_ but that was his father, and he'd never expected it to come to this.

 

“John,” Bobby suddenly said.

 

“No,” John replied, not taking his eyes off of Dean.

 

Dean swallowed thickly, tried again. “Dad, please, just _listen_ to me. He's not—”

 

“Don't you dare even speak to me right now; I can't stand the sight of you.” John curled his lip, looking disgusted. “You are a disappointment to me. How _dare_ you put yourself in front of an Angel? I should shoot you where you stand.”

 

“John!” Rufus called sharply.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Rufus; don't you tell me how to speak to my son! I'm right, and you all know it.” John raised his pistol higher, finger hovering over the trigger. “Move, Dean, or I _will_ shoot you.”

 

“Don't make that mistake, John,” Bobby ordered gruffly, taking a step forward. “Ya ain't gonna like what happens if your finger twitches just a smidge. Don't be an idjit; put down the gun, now.”

 

John stared at Dean, eyes wide and full of threat, _daring_ Dean to make the wrong choice. “Bobby, you shut your mouth. I'm not gonna tell you again, Dean.”

 

There was a pressure on Dean's chest; it hurt, made it hard to breathe. He didn't want to cry, but he could feel the sting behind his eyes anyway. He'd always thought his father would have rathered him be put down, but he hadn't had the proof. Not until now. Here it was, right in his face, a gun pointed between his eyes, mocking: _he never cared about you, he hated you from the moment you made friends with an Angel, you won't ever make him proud._

 

Dean gave a feeble shrug, sniffed once, and rasped a quiet declaration. “Go ahead, shoot me. You've been itching to get rid of me for years; here's your chance. What are you waiting for, Dad? _Shoot me.”_

 

Sam shuffled forward a step. “Dad, please… _don't.”_

 

John's bottom lip curled in, eyes narrowing. Dean waited, holding his gaze, the breath frozen in his chest. Castiel's hand suddenly fisted in the back of his shirt, gripping him tight, holding him there, ready to fly him out of the way at the first sign of John pulling the trigger. Dean wondered if he would live to have the experience.

 

He always wanted to fly.

 

 

 

 

 

John's gun suddenly lowered, sliding back in his holster, and Dean blinked rapidly. His glare hadn't lost any of its ire; if anything, it only gained more. Pissed as he was, he clearly wasn't shooting Dean, not today.

 

“Fine,” John snapped. “The Angel lives.” He focused his harsh gaze to Castiel. “Leave.”

 

“No,” Castiel replied simply.

 

Nostrils flaring, John took a step forward. “What did you just say?”

 

“I saved Dean Winchester three different times. The old treaty states that three good standings and officiated abandonment calls for refuge. I have left my home, saved your son three different times, and now… I seek refuge here.”

 

Dean jerked his head around to gape at Castiel in shock. “What the fuck are you doing? _Go home._ Cas, you can't stay here.”

 

“Actually,” Sam spoke up, clearing his throat, “he can. The old treaty does state those exact terms. There hasn't ever been a call for it, as neither an Angel or Hunter has ever abandoned their home, nor done anything good for the others, but he is entirely right. We can't refuse him.”

 

Dean swung his gaze to Sam, gaping in surprise. For some inexplicable reason, Sam looked pleased. Bobby and Rufus had already put their guns away and were sharing wary looks. Ellen looked less than pleased. But what backed up the claim was the absolute _fury_ on his father's face. Jaw clenching, fingers twitching, he looked as if he was wound tight and being forced into something.

 

“I'd sooner see you dead,” John growled, baring his teeth at Castiel.

 

“Unless I provide a reason, you cannot execute me. It seems you have no other choice,” Castiel replied blandly, apparently unbothered.

 

John swiped a hand over his mouth, irritated. “Fine, if you wish to come… you will be supervised at all times. At the first sign of betrayal, even the _smallest_ thing, you will be killed, and I will mount your head in my home.” He cut his eyes to Dean, disdain obvious in his gaze. “And the one who will kill you will be _Dean.”_

 

Something heavy like dread fell to the pit of his stomach. Quietly, he murmured, “Yes, sir.”

 

Castiel huffed. “Rest assured, no nefarious actions will come to those who do not deserve it.”

 

“You will _not_ harm my people, regardless of what they do to you,” John argued. “You will not be allowed in the huts, nor can you join in any hunting. Refuge is just that; I do not offer comfort, and I don't care if you die through the night. You want to be here, _fine,_ but you have to suffer the consequences.”

 

Dean swallowed as Castiel replied, “And I shall.”

 

John turned on his heel, facing the others. “Ellen, go ahead and let the others know. Rufus, update the patrol and let them know that this particular Angel isn't to be killed without due cause. Bobby, meet me in my hut so we can discuss the perimeters of this outdated… _treaty._ Sam, work out a schedule with your brother; if you two are so keen on an Angel infiltrating our home, you two can be the first to die at his hands.” He slowly turned to face Dean, expression sliding into something blank and careless. “And _you…_ you decide where to put your pet, and when he bites… don't say I didn't warn you.”

 

The pause after he spoke was heavy and weighted. He looked at Dean as if he wasn't worth more than the dirt under his boot. Then, he turned and walked away, everyone dispersing after him to do as he ordered. When they disappeared through the trees, Dean sagged and let out a deep breath.

 

“Fuck,” he choked, voice cracking.

 

“Shit, Dean, what happened?” Sam blurted, moving over to stand in front of him with wide eyes.

 

Dean couldn't handle him right that second, too focused on one thing. Whirling on Castiel, he stared at him and breathed out, “You used me.”

 

Castiel frowned at him. “No, I saved your life. Multiple times.”

 

“I was a pawn for you to—”

 

“Do not claim to know my intentions, Dean. I saved your life because you were in danger. I have left my home and have no intentions of going back. I saw my opportunity and I took it, but even without it, I would have saved you.”

 

Dean sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Whether it was the truth or not, he didn't have much of a choice besides believe it. Nodding, he murmured, “Okay, Cas. I'm trusting you, man; don't make me regret it.”

 

Sam suddenly stuck his hand out at Castiel, looking nervous. “Um, hi, you must be Sam.” His eyes widened. “No, _I'm_ Cas. No! You're Cas; I'm Sam.”

 

Cas blinked at his hand. “Yes,” he said slowly.

 

Dean couldn't help it; he chuckled, relief replacing the tension and making him feel slightly delirious. He shook his head and tugged Sam's hand down, grinning at him.

 

“Sam, he doesn't do handshakes. Learned that at ten. How are we working out, you know, babysitting?”

 

“I'm not a baby.”

 

They both ignored him. “I guess we both just stick with him. When the other has something to do, we swap out,” Sam said, shrugging awkwardly. “Where are you putting him?”

 

“I'm thinking out by the docks,” Dean told him with a frown. “You remember the boat we tricked out when we were kids?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we turned it into our fort. No non-Winchesters allowed.”

 

“It'll work. We still have the pillows and blankets, plus it's big enough he can sleep in.”

 

Sam snorted. “Barely.”

 

“I'm amenable to wherever you place me,” Castiel told them, blinking when they focused on him.

 

“Alright,” Dean said, nodding. “You go get him set up down there while I shower. I'll bring some food for all of us to eat, then we will figure out the rest. You still have to train for your first hunt, so I'll probably spend most of the time with him.”

 

“I'll try to get Dad off your back,” Sam mumbled, averting his eyes. “That was pretty… messed up.”

 

“This whole day has been messed up,” Dean muttered, reaching up to scrub at his forehead, looking pained.

 

Sam winced. “Was I right about the fire?”

 

“You ever been wrong before?” Dean shot back.

 

“You're gonna tell me _everything,”_ Sam insisted.

 

Dean had all intentions of doing that, but they had their orders. He knew he was going to have to focus on putting one foot in front of the other when they headed back. He was so _exhausted;_ all he wanted to do was shower, eat, and sleep, in that order. But instead, he had to come to terms with the new reality of his life.

 

Dean hadn't thought about how easy things could change since he was ten years old. He was beginning to think that the phenomenon of his life changing in a split second had everything to do with Castiel walking into it.

 

He didn't know how to feel about that.

 

“Yeah, but first… we gotta deal with the Angel.”

 

Castiel huffed, offended.

 

“Relax,” Dean told him, smiling at him, “I'm only teasing you, Cas. Come on, let's go home.”


	3. Part Three

_It takes both sides to build a bridge_

_-Fredrik Nael_

 

 

* * *

 

  


Dean was still twenty-six years old when he learned that some bridges were worth crossing.

 

The sun was beaming down on the sand, glinting off the waters in a mystical way. The lapping of the waves was as soothing as ever, just a regular soundtrack to Dean's day-to-day life. The beach was his home, sunlight was normal, nothing seemed spectacular to him.

 

Castiel, however…

 

Dean watched him tilt his head back yet again, peaceful expression pointed towards the sky. His wings were draping low to the ground, sitting casually on top of the dry sand. He looked as if he'd never felt the sun on his face before.

 

“He's been like that all morning,” Sam informed him in faint amusement.

 

Dean's lips twitched. “You can head to training. Bobby is waiting for you.”

 

“Give me a hint?”

 

“You'll be with Eileen and Jo, I think. Pretty sure you're going over bow and arrows today.”

 

“Damn,” Sam groaned, flinging his arms up at the sky. “I can't stand bows and arrows. Why do we still do that anyway? We have guns, we don't even use bow and arrows.”

 

“You can make arrows when you run out; it's quicker than making a bullet,” Dean told him, clapping him on the shoulder.

 

Sam started backing away. “What are you doing with Cas today?”

 

“Not sure yet. Everyone's pretty fucking wary of him, so I'm gonna keep him from the huts.”

 

“Why don't you take him to the stones?”

 

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Why would I take him there? That's the spot people go to for privacy.”

 

“Exactly,” Sam said, smiling innocently.

 

“To fuck,” Dean clarified.

 

Sam laughed, waving as he turned around. He yelled over his shoulder, “At least you won't be interrupted!”

 

Rolling his eyes, Dean turned back to Castiel. He still stood with his face towards the sun, breathing in deep breaths, eyes closed. There was a tiny smile on his face, something sweet and warm. Dean couldn't believe he'd ever been intimidated by him.

 

Though, to be fair, Castiel was still in his armor. His hood stayed down, dipping right between the wings splitting from his back. But otherwise, he looked as if he wouldn't hurt a fly.

 

Dean walked up to him, sidestepping his wings and knocking his shoulder into his. “You act like you've never felt the sun on your face.”

 

“Even at the treetops, the sun does not quite reach us. I've never smelt the ocean either,” Castiel replied, eyes flickering open.

 

“Here, I brought you an apple,” Dean murmured, reaching in his coat pocket to pull out the green apple and pass it over.

 

Castiel reached out and took it, staring at it in blatant surprise. “You… are giving me fruit?”

 

“Well, it's not much of a breakfast, but it's something, at least.”

 

“You get breakfast?”

 

Dean snorted, but his humor drained when he realized Castiel was serious. “You don't?” he asked warily.

 

“No, back home, we had one meal a day, mostly containing stale rice and grains. Fruit was only something we were allowed on birthdays, if someone managed to obtain them.”

 

“You don't eat meat?”

 

“If we are lucky,” Castiel replied solemnly.

 

Dean blinked rapidly, staring out into the ocean. Castiel was speaking as if what he was describing was normal. As if eating so little and not so well was what life was for him. Dean hadn't ever considered himself _spoiled_ before, but he was definitely living a lush lifestyle compared to him.

 

“Why'd you run away, Cas?” Dean asked softly.

 

Castiel hummed a gravelly note, tilting his head side to side. “For purpose,” he answered easily.

 

“Didn't you have a family?”

 

“Yes. I have an older sister, Anna, and a younger brother, Gabriel.”

 

“Naomi is your mom, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What about your dad?”

 

“He died when I was very young, merely months after Gabriel had been born.”

 

Dean flinched, automatically guilty. “I'm sorry. Uh, I was four when my mom died, so I get it.”

 

Castiel frowned at him. “Do not apologize; I barely knew him. My mother was more interested in Zachariah than my father, and she only had children to try and placate him. She did, before he died. He was rather taken with me, or so I am told.”

 

Dean's breath caught in his chest. “Zachariah,” he blurted, eyes wide.

 

“What of him?”

 

“Everyone knows of him here. He, uh, killed my grandpa. Did you know him?”

 

Castiel frowned. “Zachariah was rather taken with me too; he wanted me to take his place as the rightful ruler before he died. My mother considered it a high honor, but I don't remember him at all.”

 

“Cas,” Dean said carefully, reaching out to lightly touch Castiel's arm, “you _can't_ tell anyone that. Not anyone here, anyway. Especially not my dad. That will get you killed.”

 

“Why?” Castiel asked slowly, flicking his gaze down to Dean's hand resting against his bare skin.

 

“Zachariah is kinda the reason everyone hates Angels. We didn't always used to hunt you, even with all the hostile shit going on from the exile. But when he rose up and went to war for our land… he became public enemy number one. He killed the Head Hunter at the time—my grandpa—and caused _a lot_ of problems for us.” Dean dropped his hand, looking back towards the ocean. “My dad killed him, and after that… it was practically a sign of a good Hunter if you killed an Angel.”

 

“So, you're father really _does_ mount Angel heads on his wall.” Castiel blinked rapidly in surprise. “Even as a child, I assumed that was just a scare tactic used by the elders. You Hunters truly _are_ barbaric.”

 

Dean snorted. “No, dude, gross,” he reassured him, rolling his eyes. “No one mounts any heads anywhere. That's just… weird. But what do you mean, barbaric? We're civilized people, thank you very much.”

 

“You have to understand, Dean, I grew up knowing that Hunters are inferior,” Castiel told him carefully, eyes squinting as he seemed to choose his next words carefully. “We believe that Hunters are the equivalent to bugs—something to be squashed. You infested our land and we've yet to take it back.”

 

Dean ran his tongue under his top lip, tracing his teeth, irritation sparking in him. “And do you agree with that? I mean, you gotta think about what I grew up on. Angels are nothing more than beasts, _monsters._ You threaten our land and we have to put you down to keep you out.”

 

There was silence, thick with tension. Honestly, Dean hadn't been so sure about all the things he'd been told, not after meeting an Angel so young. But that didn't mean he didn't hear it all the time.

 

It was strange to think that the same thing was happening over on the other side of the island, but in reverse. Being compared to a bug was offensive as hell, but he tried to imagine growing up thinking that about his own people. He found it oddly easier to do than he'd have liked, considering how he'd been spoonfed hate towards Angel since before he could properly walk.

 

Castiel cleared his throat. “I do not mean to offend, Dean. If it concerns you, I will tell you that I haven't exactly followed that line of thought.”

 

“Why not?” Dean asked, jerking his head to the side to stare at Castiel.

 

“When I was eleven years old, I met this child. He was very kind and my friend, but he was also a Hunter.” Castiel dipped his chin, looking at Dean through his eyelashes with a tiny smile. “You could say I didn't quite buy into the talk after that.”

 

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh. “Fuck, we were so young. But… you've got a point. All the stories and warnings seemed like bullshit after I met an Angel who saved my life.”

 

“It does put things into perspective, doesn't it?”

 

“You got that right.”

 

“Excuse my intrusion; you don't have to answer if you don't wish to, but… do you really believe that your father would like to see you dead?” Castiel murmured, averting his gaze as if that covered the fact that he was asking something so personal.

 

“My dad is… a very simple man. Most people would say he's layered, that he's hard to understand. But I think I get him better than everyone else. He abides the laws and expectations he makes up in his head, and he expects everyone else to do so too, _especially_ me and Sam.” Dean shook his head roughly, kicking at the sand and clearing his thick throat. “For him, it's as simple as this. Follow his orders, kill all Angels, do for the better of our people. Anything outside of that doesn't belong.”

 

“And you are somehow outside of that?”

 

“I'm not exactly the poster-child for killing Angels, considering I befriended one when I was only ten. My father hasn't looked at me the same since.”

 

“Why does he hate us so much?” Castiel looked troubled, skin wrinkling between his eyebrows. “I can understand Zachariah; he killed his father. But we are not all the same.”

 

Dean shrugged and heaved a sigh. “Man, I wish I knew. Hunters and Angels have had problems ever since the exile, but that was before my dad was even born. We mostly just ignored each other before Zachariah. I don't know, he just has always hated Angels, for as long as I can remember.”

 

“The same cannot be said for my people. My mother has hated the Hunters as a whole for my whole life, and she has greatly influenced the others. Whereas Hunters moved on, Angels never quite let go that they were exiled. But no one is around who remembers that time,” Castiel explained, wings suddenly moving out, like a cat stretching. He didn't even seem to notice and kept speaking. “My mother, however, _adored_ Zachariah, and she believed in his cause. She keeps the hate alive.”

 

Dean frowned at him. “You, uh, don't seem to like her so much. I remember how she offered you up as the penalty for crossing the bridge.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel muttered bitterly. “My mother has not changed since then. She is a very angry woman and does not love anything, not even her children.”

 

“She sounds like a bitch,” Dean noted weakly.

 

Castiel arched an eyebrow and sardonically murmured, “Oh, she is.”

 

They fell into silence again, no tension anywhere in sight. Castiel's wings slowly fluttered back down to the sand, apparently done stretching. Dean watched the ocean, little frown on his face.

 

Fuck, this was just… sad.

 

“Okay.” Dean clapped his hands together and turned to face Castiel. “This was depressing as hell, so I think we should do something fun.”

 

Castiel tilted his head. “Fun?” he echoed, like the word was a foreign concept. Shit, knowing his lifestyle, it probably _was._

 

“Yeah, Cas… fun,” Dean said, chuckling. “Come on, I've got something to show you.”

 

“And where are we going?” Castiel asked, turning to follow him with curious eyes, wings dragging behind him like a long cape.

 

Dean grinned at him. “Why, Cas, we're going to the waterfalls.”

  


 

  
  


 

The waterfalls were pretty much as they were aptly named. The woods were open and spread out, but the farther they went to the left of the bridge, the deeper the woods got. Towards the center, there was a clearing that broke through the lump of trees, opening to long stretches of spongy green grass with three different waterfalls connecting to three different streams as a backdrop.

 

If Dean thought Castiel was amazed by the ocean and sun, it was nothing compared to this.

 

Even with the few people milling about, Castiel did not hide his shock and awe at the sight. His wings were fluffy and high, like surprised. Dean watched him stare at everything, wide blue eyes flicking around in blatant astonishment. It was actually kind of cute, if Dean was honest.

 

“Okay, the first one is for laundry,” Dean told him, pointing to the smaller stream to the left. Castiel immediately fixed his gaze on it. “That's where was wash all our clothes with the different soaps that Jody and Donna make.”

 

Castiel blinked at him. “Why do you wash your garments? I've noticed you've changed into another set. Do you not line the inside with anything?”

 

“Uh, no? They're just clothes, dude. We got fields with shit we use to make the clothes, but Hunters get some leather from the hides of the animals found around the island. We have to wash 'em to keep them clean. Don't you do that?”

 

“No. Majority of our armor are made of metal or iron and are lined with Angel feathers, which repel filth. We have one or two sets of garments, but that is all - except the children, who wear the slacks shared by the communities until they can get their own armor made.”

 

Dean blinked at him. “Oh, well, that's… convenient. But what about casual clothes, or garments, or whatever? Like, what do you wear when you are comfortable?”

 

“We wear our armor at all times,” Castiel told him seriously. “There is never a time we can let our guards down; a threat could be near at any time.”

 

“Okay,” Dean said slowly, drawing out the word and trying to wrap his mind around _that._ “Moving on, waterfall two is for bathing. See how it dips in that little cove right there? The waterfall goes down into that, so it's kinda like a shower too. We tie little totems to let people know we are in there. The cove provides privacy. Again, we use soaps made by Jody and Donna. I, personally, am a fan of the pine and oak scented ones.”

 

Castiel turned and sniffed him without preamble, shoving his nose dangerously close to Dean's neck, eyes narrowed. “I see.”

 

“Dude,” Dean chuckled, shoving him off and rolling his eyes, “you can't just _sniff_ people.”

 

“And you bathe frequently?” Castiel asked, unperturbed by Dean's order.

 

“Pretty regularly, why? Please tell me you all bathe, because that's pretty nasty if you don't,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

 

Castiel looked offended. “Of course we bathe. We do not have the benefit of privacy or a good source of water, outside of rain that we may not use, so it's not frequent. We have to boil our water to cleanse it before we use it. Privacy isn't much of an issue, considering that's when we groom as well.”

 

“Groom?” Dean repeated, latching onto that because the rest made his chest squeeze. “What's that like?”

 

“It pertains to our wings. We sit in a line and groom the wings before us. It's very soothing.”

 

“Like monkeys.”

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes and very firmly said, “No.”

 

“A little bit,” Dean insisted, biting back a smile. “You sit in a line and groom each other. That's just… _cute.”_

 

“You seem to think I will not fly you to the top of very tall tree and leave you there,” Castiel told him conversationally, eyes betraying his annoyance.

 

Dean tossed his head back and crowed with laughter, loud and abrupt. It caused multiple people to take notice of them, stopping what they were doing to gawk at the Angel and Dean Winchester standing beside him, cackling.

 

Once under control, Dean waved a hand and grinned at Castiel. “You are a funny guy, Cas.”

 

“I was not joking.”

 

“Sure, sure. Alright, onto the third waterfall. It's the farthest to the right. That's just for fun when we want a swim or when it's really hot.”

 

Castiel stared at him. “What about drinking water?”

 

“Oh, we have an irrigation system in place for that,” Dean said casually. “There's a separate stream we have filtered to the community.”

 

“Irrigation system?” Castiel echoed faintly, confusion settling on his face.

 

“Um, okay. So, we took the stream and split it in two parts. Where they break off, we filtered it. One goes to the community for the bathrooms to keep the toilets going. The other breaks off to provide drinking water for us. It was dug up and made a _long_ time ago, but we keep a check on it and update it.”

 

“So nature provides you with a source of drinking water in the form of the third waterfall—easy access, plenty to boil—and you tamper with a stream instead?”

 

Dean felt his cheeks heat up. “Well, it's not like _I_ came up with the idea. Besides, it works for us. What do you do for drinking water, Mr. I'm Smarter Than Everyone Else?”

 

“Rainwater,” Castiel answered simply, smirking at the doubt springing on Dean's face. “It rains very often within the rainforest, as you can guess.”

 

“The what?” Dean blurted, eyebrows jerking up.

 

Castiel looked disappointed. “Surely you didn't think our forests were the same?”

 

“Well, _no,_ but I've never heard it be called a rainforest.”

 

“The one thing a rainforest _doesn't_ lack is its source of water. Rainwater is used for drinking, and we collect it as much as possible.”

 

“Why don't you just use that for bathing?” Dean asked with a frown.

 

“We do not have very much luck, Dean,” Castiel told him, frowning down at the ground. “If we were to waste our drinking water on things such as bathing, it could end badly if something were to go wrong. We've never known our abundance of rain to run out, but as many of the elders suggested, the moment we would need it for assured survival, not a drop of rain would fall. We are careful with our resources; now, we have enough rainwater collected to last us a month or two without rain.”

 

Dean swallowed, chest aching. Castiel looked very somber, as if he realized how utterly _sad_ it was that he and his people lived in fear of loss. Dean hadn't ever had that. He never worried about running out of water, or food, or _anything_ really.

 

“That… sucks,” Dean mumbled, not knowing what the right thing was to say.

 

Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he agreed solemnly.

 

“It rains here too, you know. We don't… collect it or anything. We just kinda avoid it.”

 

“If it rains where I am, then I'm sure it is raining here as well. We may seem worlds apart, but in fact, there is only a bridge separating us.”

 

Dean blinked rapidly. “Right,” he croaked.

 

They lapsed into silence, quiet and somber. Dean didn't know what to say, wasn't sure there _was_ anything to say. Castiel was right though; they may seem worlds away from each other, but they did inhabit the same island, existing on two very different sides. Dean was just the one lucky enough to end up on the side with an abundance of resources.

 

He'd been wondering why Castiel would want to come here. His reasoning— _purpose_ —had sounded shaky, at best. But Dean was beginning to think that Castiel didn't _need_ a reason; what this side of the island had was reason enough.

 

“Dean!”

 

At the exclamation, his head snapped up. Charlie was running over, dragging Jo behind her as she approached. Dean found himself scanning them for weapons as he took a half-step in front of Castiel off instinct alone. He mentally smacked himself, forcing his tense shoulders to relax.

 

It was _Charlie._ Whereas Jo would probably kill Castiel just because, Charlie wouldn't. He'd known both girls all his life, loved them like sisters.

 

“Charlie,” he said easily when they came to a halt in front of them, “hey. What's up, Jo?”

 

Charlie grinned and bounced on her bare toes, eyes fixed on Castiel. “Oh, we figured we'd come gape at the Angel in person, rather than from afar.”

 

“She forced me to come,” Jo snapped, narrowed eyes focused on Castiel accusingly.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Guys, this is Cas,” he said, gesturing at him. “Cas, the redhead is Charlie, and the one who is trying to rudely murder you with her eyes is Jo.”

 

“Hello,” Castiel said slowly, blinking at them.

 

Charlie flicked her gaze over him. “We heard you saved Dean's life a couple of times. That true?”

 

“Three times,” Castiel replied immediately.

 

Sighing, Dean muttered, “An important distinction, apparently.”

 

“Don't you, like, hate us?” Charlie asked.

 

“I do not know you.”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“Okay,” Dean interrupted quickly, “quit grilling the Angel. What do you want?”

 

Jo straightened up. “We want to know _why_ he's here. What's his play? You going to try and slaughter us all in our sleep, Angel?” Her words were curdling and sharp, spitting out.

 

Castiel's lips tightened in a way that made Dean's heart jump in his chest. “I assure you, if I wanted you to be dead, you would die whilst awake.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Jo asked sharply, shaking off Charlie's hand on her shoulder. “Fuck with me and I will tear your wings off and fry 'em for dinner.”

 

Castiel's eyes widened in open anger, brightening with the simmering emotion. His wings flared wide, nearly tipping Dean over. His hands balled into fists as he took a measured step forward and stared at her, his look so intense that Dean could only watch in fascination for a moment.

 

“You'd do well to watch the things you say. Do not make threats you do not understand,” Castiel growled roughly.

 

Jo's hand twitched towards her pocket, mouth parting as her chest rose and fell, pausing on the edge of tension. “That's not a threat, Angel, that's a promise. You make one wrong _step_ and—”

 

“Okay, enough!” Dean shoved himself in front of Castiel and frowned at Jo and Charlie. “You wanna ask him if he hates us in one breath, then threaten him in the next. He hasn't done anything wrong; in fact, he's saved my life _three_ times. So, maybe before you guys come after him with pitchforks, you ask yourself who the fuck is being a monster!”

 

“Dean—”

 

“No. You just threatened to cut his fucking wings off, fry them up, and _eat_ them. Do you have any idea how that makes you look, how that makes all of us look? If I was an Angel, I'd hate us too.”

 

Jo shook her head, scowling at him as she started backing away. “You need to get your fucking priorities straight, Winchester. Remember whose side you're on, because it looks to me like you've forgotten.” She focused her harsh gaze over at Castiel. “And you… watch yourself.”

 

With that, she pivoted and marched off, blond hair whipping after her. Charlie bit her lip, watching her leave, looking uncertain. When she disappeared through the trees, Charlie turned to look at them, rubbing her arms and clearing her throat awkwardly.

 

“That went horrible,” Charlie noted flatly.

 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, you can say that again, Red. You okay?”

 

Charlie shuffled in place, eyes averting from him with shame. “I'm fine, but… she has a point, Dean.”

 

“Charlie, come on,” Dean said softly, blinking rapidly in surprise. “What are you talking about? You _know_ me.”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie murmured, focusing her gaze on him, eyes drawn and pitiful, “I did.”

 

“Charlie—”

 

“I'm gonna go check on Jo. Just—just be careful, Dean.”

 

She flicked a pointed look at Castiel before turning and walking away as well, shoulders slumped. Dean watched her go, feeling off-kilter. Out of everyone, he never expected Charlie to be one to ostracize him because of his affiliation with Castiel. But apparently, the hatred ran deeper than he thought.

 

“Dean, I apologize, I never meant to—”

 

“Cas, this isn't your fault. I should be apologizing to you. Fuck, that went… _horribly._ I'm sorry she spoke to you like that.”

 

Castiel's throat bobbed and he stared resolutely at the ground. “Do not apologize to me, Dean. You have done nothing wrong in this situation, not once.” He looked up, big blue eyes soft and sad. “You deserve better than anyone can know.”

 

“Hey, it's—it's not a big deal, man.” Dean forced out a laugh, coughing around the pressure of warmth blossoming in his chest. “Look, they'll come around. You may not believe me, but they're good people… mostly. They're just a bit rough around the edges, but we'll change their minds in no time. Now, what do you say we let you go for a little swim, huh?”

 

Castiel still looked incredibly guilty when he quietly replied, “I would love that.”

  


 

  
  


 

Sam found them a little bit later.

 

Castiel's mood had lifted once he'd got in the water. It wasn't deep enough that his feet couldn't touch the bottom, and the water was calm and cool. Dean watched Castiel dip his wings in the water, smoothing his feathers and smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

“Looks like he's having fun,” Sam said as he dipped down on the grass, perching beside the spot Dean was splayed out.

 

Dean hummed, lips curled up. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's having the time of his life. How was training? Bow and arrows?”

 

Sam sighed. “Bow and arrows.”

 

“Jo wasn't there,” Dean murmured.

 

“Yeah, I noticed. She was supposed to be. I heard Ellen chewing her out when I grabbed an apple. How'd you know?”

 

“She was here. Charlie too. There was a pretty ugly argument; Jo threatened Cas and it spiralled from there. Pretty sure I have zero friends at this point.”

 

Sam grimaced, settling down to sit beside Dean, ankles crossed over each other. “Well, you've got me.” He threw a sly glance at Dean. “And you have your very own Angel.”

 

“He's not _my_ Angel.” Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back on his hands. “I'm not too worried. They'll come around, eventually.”

 

“Bobby caught up to me after class. He and Rufus want to talk to Cas. Maybe they'll come around first,” Sam suggested hopefully.

 

Dean tensed, throwing a sharp look at Sam. “Did he say what he wanted?”

 

“Not really, but you know Bobby. Why, you worried?”

 

“A bit, yeah. They're old, but they're still good Hunters. You may not remember because you were so young, but they used to be the top Hunters besides Dad. So yeah, I'm a little worried.”

 

Sam chewed his lip for a beat, then said, “Yeah, but they're not cruel. They wouldn't break the treaty either. I think it could be a good thing.”

 

“Sure wish there was a way we could know what was gonna happen,” Dean sang, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“You _know_ that's not how—”

 

“—the dreams work. Yeah, I know. But still, you dream about anything besides those girls in the magazine under your pillow?”

 

“Gross,” Sam huffed, throwing him a bitch-face that Dean knew was used for him alone. “And I have dreamed something, but it's nothing you need to be worried about.”

 

Dean frowned at him. “You're not gonna tell me?”

 

“No.”

 

“You always tell me your G-Rated dreams.”

 

“Well,” Sam said, shrugging and smiling innocently at him, “I'm not telling you this one. It's not a bad thing, but you can't know either.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Telling you might mess it up.”

 

“So, it's good?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dean nodded, figuring he could handle that. “Okay, fair enough. When's Bobby want us?”

 

“They're setting up at that old cabin in the woods—said something about Dad blowing his top if Cas went in a hut—so we've got time. I think they're making dinner, actually,” Sam told him.

 

“Really?” Dean blurted in surprise. “Ellen let them have the ingredients? Wonder what they did to get that. Actually, no I don't.”

 

Sam shook his head, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his knees. “Cas,” he called.

 

Castiel snapped his head up, letting the water he'd cradled in his hands flow through his fingers. He slowly approached them, smiling. “Hello, Sam. How was training?”

 

“Went as well as expected. Bows and arrows.”

 

“Is that good or bad?”

 

“Bad,” Sam confirmed with a chuckle.

 

“Ah,” Castiel said delicately.

 

Sam nodded at him. “Having fun?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, I hate to break it up, but Bobby and Rufus wanna talk with you. Feeling up to it?”

 

Dean's heart felt like it grew three times its size as Castiel stopped to consider. Sam was as calm and casual with Castiel as he was with Dean, and for some reason, that felt _nice._ He wasn't demanding anything from him, treating him like a monster, or even distrusting of him. Just because Dean was good with him, Sam was.

 

Castiel glanced at the water lapping at his waist. “Will I return here?”

 

“I'll bring you here every day, if you want,” Dean told him immediately, voice soft. He cleared it when Sam arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“Then, yes to your question, Sam,” Castiel said, smiling thankfully at Dean.

 

“Alright, come on,” Sam said, getting to his feet with a groan. “Shit, I'm getting old.”

 

Castiel started to walk out the water, but Dean laughed at Sam. “Oh, please, you're barely twenty-three. Talk to me when—”

 

Whatever he was going to say got lost in his throat when he glanced at Castiel. For some reason, he hadn't really _looked_ at him while he was in the water. But now that he was out, dripping and standing barefoot on the grass, Dean couldn't tear his eyes away.

 

Castiel was… fit. Even disregarding his features, he had a very good physique—all taut muscles, thick thighs, and wide shoulders. The water droplets gliding down his sternum, dripping off the feathers dangling there, slid down the dip in his stomach. The flesh was not quite lined with hard abs, but there was a faint hint of them. Dean was stuck on the one stray droplet that passed the others and dipped down between his defined hipbones.

 

“Dean?”

 

Blinking, Dean ripped his gaze away as the water droplet disappeared over Castiel's pants. He stared at Sam, clearing his throat. “What?”

 

Sam smirked at him. “You we're talking.”

 

“I was?” Dean mumbled, slowly getting to his feet and trying to look busy as he dusted nonexistent stains off his jeans. “Whatever. Ready to go?”

 

Sam just shook his head and started walking, light laughter floating behind him. Dean risked at glance at Castiel, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he worried at it. Castiel smiled at him, pushing his wings back as he moved to fall into step with him.

 

“I enjoyed the water, Dean. I apologize for insinuating that having that for fun was a moronic and entitled idea.”

 

“It's fine, Cas. I'm glad you had fun.”

 

Castiel ducked his head, looking pleased. Dean tried to fight his answering grin, but it was impossible to do. They both smiled down at their feet as they walked, a distinct feeling of lightness and fondness surrounding them.

 

Dean had no idea what he was doing. Befriending an Angel was bad enough, but _liking_ him was worse. And it was subtle, the ease between them, but Dean could feel it like a second skin—warm and right. Castiel was good, down to his bones, Dean just _knew_ that—had known it since he was ten—but more than that, he was funny and interesting and _different._

 

Dean liked odd things, and Castiel was quickly becoming his favorite.

 

“Alright, so when we get there, make sure you don't antagonize them,” Sam said, hanging back to walk beside Castiel, smiling at him apologetically. “I'm sure you won't mean to, but they're pretty grumpy guys—really anything can set them off, so just… tread lightly, okay?”

 

Castiel's eyes widened in worry. “Are there things I should avoid? I do not wish to offend anyone.”

 

“Um, well… they're together,” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck. “Like, they're married.”

 

“Should I not mention their union?”

 

“No, I mean, you _can,_ just don't say anything about them being two guys who are married. Well, don't say anything negative.”

 

“Why would I?” Castiel asked, eyes narrowing.

 

Sam shrugged awkwardly. “I wasn't sure if… that was a thing that happened for your people. There are a couple of the people here who are pretty rude about it, but it's something that happens.”

 

“The relationship between two people is only invaded where notable toxicity happens, such as adultery and domestic violence. We do not care whom you choose, so long as you are good to them.” Castiel gave a sharp grin. “We have executed people for committing such acts.”

 

Dean gave a nod of approval. “Hardcore.”

 

“Just do your best not to insult them, _especially_ not to the other.” Sam rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. “They're ridiculously protective of each other.”

 

“An admirable trait,” Castiel noted.

 

“They're also kinda like our dads, so don't be surprised if they ask you a whole bunch of questions,” Dean admitted, reaching up to scratch his cheek and avoid Castiel's gaze.

 

Castiel frowned. “How are they like your fathers if—”

 

“They raised us when our dad was too busy,” Sam cut him off, lips twisting bitterly, “which was most of the time, to be honest. We spent more time with them and Ellen than we did our dad.”

 

Dean coughed and looked at Castiel with a tight smile. “Head Hunter stuff kind of kept him busy. We did just fine on our own.”

 

They all lapsed into silence at that. There really wasn't much more to say.

 

Dean didn't like to dwell on all the things his father missed in his and Sam's life. When he was young, it hadn't really made sense, but he'd accepted it for the most part. What he hadn't known then was just how much time their father spent away _on purpose._

 

Head Hunter duties aside, their father had went on hunt after hunt, even when he didn't _have_ to, rather than stay home with his kids. He'd pawned them off on Bobby and Rufus more times than Dean could count, and he clearly didn't see where the problem was. No one had the balls to mention it.

 

He'd missed events within the community, wasn't there the first time Dean broke his arm, didn't notice when Sam got his first crush, never showed up to watch after them when they swam in the ocean or explored the forest. He was there for discipline and orders, but not much else.

 

But Dean had done just fine, and so had Sam. Even with Bobby and Rufus doing all they could, Dean had watched after Sam. He was there for all of Sam's class awards, and he was the one who taught him how to treat a girl, and _he_ did all the things their father never did for him. All because John Winchester had gripped his shoulder and told him to, passing the baton that he didn't even hold.

 

Dean never regretted it—still didn't to this day. And he loved his father, always would. His father had his faults, but for a long time, Dean had done nothing more than try to make him proud. A small part of him was still trying.

 

“Up ahead,” Sam murmured, breaking the silence.

 

Sure enough, the old cabin was coming into view. Long before their community migrated to the beach, they used to live in the woods. For some reason, this cabin was still standing, where the others hadn't lasted through the years.

 

People used it occasionally for privacy. More often than not, the women came out here to give birth, being able to scream as loud as they wanted. When Alex had been born, Dean had been kept up by Jody's screams echoing through the trees. Even at twenty years old, he'd been fucking _terrified_ of childbirth.

 

They were all quiet as they stomped up the rickety steps, and Castiel looked on with trepidation as Sam knocked on the thick wooden door. They all waited as Rufus’ boots clomped towards them, blinking when the door peeled open on his back.

 

“I done told you, more salt, _not_ pepper! I ain't got a fuckin’ cold and I'm not itchin’ for no heartburn either!” Rufus turned to them with his patented scowl, huffing a breath. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Rufus just held up a hand, whirling back around. “Dammit, Bobby, I said no more pepper!”

 

How Rufus knew what Bobby was doing within the enclosed kitchen, Dean would never know, but Bobby confirmed his yelling by hollering back. “Shut up, ya idjit! Pepper is good for the sinuses, and I'm 'bout damn tired of you snoring in my ear all night!”

 

Rufus growled and turned back to face them, rolling his eyes. “He's tryna kill me, I tell you.”

 

Dean couldn't help it, he laughed. Beside him, Sam was doing the same thing. For them, it was soothing to hear them bickering; it was kind of their _thing._ But no one had ever doubted they loved each other, and Dean kinda hoped he and whoever he ended up with had a relationship similar to theirs when they got older.

 

“What's he cooking?” Sam asked eagerly, no doubt starving with how quick he was growing.

 

Rufus waved a hand. “Some kinda soup, I don't know.” He flicked his gaze to Castiel. “So, you're the Angel who worked your way over here. What's your name, kid?”

 

Castiel blinked. “Dean has introduced me as Cas to everyone, though my name is Castiel. You may call me either.”

 

“Alright, well come on in, Cas,” Rufus said, turning and walking away, leaving the door wide open.

 

They were led to the open dining room inside the kitchen, just a small table with five chairs crammed beside it. Dean directed Castiel to the middle chair and took one side while Sam took the other. Rufus plopped down across from them with a scowl.

 

Shortly after, Bobby walked with a soup pot and a pitcher. He sat them down in the middle of the table and walked back to the kitchen, grabbing five bowls and glasses precariously in his arms and dumping them on the table with loud clangs. Sitting up, Dean automatically passed them out to everyone.

 

As Dean leaned back, Castiel shuffled closer to him and whispered, “What is this?” He waved his fork in front of Dean's nose, looking confused.

 

“Silverware,” Dean muttered out the side of his mouth, holding his own fork to show Castiel how to grip it. “You eat with it.”

 

“And what is soup?”

 

“Uh, it's kinda—”

 

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Bobby barked, spooning out some soup into his bowl while Rufus poured him some tea.

 

Castiel's head snapped up and he straightened, throwing Dean a brave look. “I do not know what soup is,” he said quietly.

 

Bobby froze where he was, spoon hanging in the air above the pot. “You ain't never had soup, boy?”

 

“No,” Castiel answered.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “They get one meal a day that is basically just rice and grains and maybe some fruit on their birthday, if they're lucky.”

 

“Most of everything is poisonous on my side of the island,” Castiel explained, fiddling with his fork curiously.

 

Bobby shared a look with Rufus before clearing his throat. “Is that why you want over here, 'cause we got better shit?”

 

“Bobby,” Sam mumbled, embarrassed.

 

Castiel didn't seem bothered. “No,” he answered promptly, then smiled slightly, flicking his gaze over at Dean like they were sharing an inside joke that no one else could understand. “But that is a bonus.”

 

“So, why did you want over here?” Rufus asked bluntly, leaning his elbow on the table, looking right at Castiel and taking a bite of his soup.

 

Dean wanted to bury his head under the table.

 

Castiel frowned. “I was sure I had purpose here, but I'm beginning to think otherwise.”

 

Dean's head snapped over to look at Castiel, his eyes wide, chest pinching. He didn't know Castiel was thinking about leaving, but it wasn't a nice thought. Dean liked having him around—so far, at least—and he'd been under the impression that Castiel was enjoying himself.

 

“You want to leave?” Sam asked softly, frowning.

 

Castiel blinked, looking away from his fork to focus his gaze on Dean. “No,” he replied carefully.

 

“Why'd you save Dean?” Bobby asked, watching Castiel closely.

 

“Which time?” Castiel retorted, lips twitching.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Never gonna live that down.”

 

Rufus snorted. “Let's start with the first time, how about that? You were, what, ten?”

 

“Eleven. I'd gone exploring against my mother's wishes. I believe my sister, Anna, and I had gotten into an argument, so I'd ran off. At some point, I ran into Dean.” Castiel huffed a small laugh. “I was frightened at first; Dean was clearly a Hunter, had even claimed to be Head Hunter one day. But after a small amount of time, I realized he was just… a child, not unlike myself. We became fast friends.”  

 

Dean coughed as all eyes swiveled to him, but the blue eyes felt heaviest on his face. “I was only ten, and I'd learned all the shit we grew up hearing about Angels weren't real,” he said defensively.

 

“And how did Dean end up in the river?” Rufus asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

Castiel swallowed thickly. “He requested a feather, so I gave it to him. We were far too close to the edge, and when he took a step back to, I presume, celebrate achieving his goal, the ground sunk in and took him with it.”

 

“It was a miscalculation on my part,” Dean said quietly, forcing his eyes to the table. His skin crawled at the memory, one he did not like to revisit.

 

“My flying was not great. It takes years for an Angel to properly gain control of their wings and even more to master the art of flying.” Castiel paused to take a bite of his soup, eyes flickering shut as he swallowed it down. “Oh,” he said softly, “this is wonderful. Thank you.”

 

Bobby's lips twitched, but he quickly straightened his face back into his usual scowl. “Continue with the story, boy; we ain't got all day.”

 

“He couldn't fly, but he _could_ hover,” Dean informed them with a chuckle. “Sorta.”

 

Castiel sent him a flat look. “I was marginally better than the previous year. As it was, I took it upon myself to try and save Dean. It did not go as I'd hoped. The water was more than I could handle at such a young age.”

 

“But you did,” Dean told him, staring at his side profile, fixated on the strength of his jaw, the scruff on his cheek, the angle of his nose. Castiel suddenly turned to look at him, blue eyes so intense that Dean could barely wheeze his next words out. “You saved my life, Cas.”

 

Castiel hummed, not looking away. “Yes, I did. It was one of the most innocent acts I've ever committed, and I do not regret it.”

 

“How did you do it?” Sam murmured.

 

“I gripped him tight and pulled him from the rapids,” Castiel replied, not even blinking.

 

There was silence after that declaration. Dean couldn't tear his gaze from Castiel's, his breath caught in his lungs. He felt like the intensity from those blue eyes were personified, reaching out to grip his frame and rattle it.

 

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, they looked away, turning to their soup. Everyone ate in silence for awhile, silverware scraping against their bowls, sips of their tea loud in the quiet atmosphere. Bobby and Rufus kept sharing glances, communicating only in the way two people could from being so close.

 

Then, without preamble, Bobby announced, “You're a good one, Cas.” He gave him an appraising nod.

 

Castiel blinked. “You mean…”

 

“Stamp of approval, man,” Dean told him, lips splitting into a grin. He elbowed Castiel in the arm playfully. “Don't question it.”

 

“It may come as a shock,” Castiel murmured, gaze pointed away, “but most of us are.”

 

“The Angels, you mean,” Rufus said.

 

“I am an Angel,” Castiel replied.

 

Bobby hummed. “Nah, you're one of us now.”

 

Castiel looked a mixture of pleased and wary.

 

The conversation flowed from there, easy and light. They all paused to explain seemingly mundane things to Castiel when he was confused, but no one seemed bothered by it. As easy as that, Rufus and Bobby had shifted to include Castiel into their life, trusting Dean's judgement.

 

Dean couldn't help but be relieved. He didn't have everyone behind him, but he had them, and Sam, and that was enough. In fact, he wanted to bottle that night up and keep it, existing in that one fold of time forever. It was right, the way they all sat around the table, eating and laughing and _existing._

 

Castiel at his side didn't take any adjustment at all.


	4. Part Four

_The darkest night is often the bridge to the brightest tomorrow_

_-Jonathan Lockwood Huie_

  
  


* * *

 

  


Dean was nearly twenty-seven when he learned that some bridges needed to burn to be built anew.

 

Things shifted.

 

It was rather subtle, at first. But with Bobby and Rufus’ approval, the others started to come around. Every day, as promised, Dean took Castiel to the third stream, sitting on the grass and talking to him from afar. And with every passing day, people stopped looking at him like he didn't belong, eventually even approaching Dean to ask him questions about Castiel.

 

People were curious; that was just natural. For some, not understanding something was enough cause to hate it. But the others were just curious enough to investigate. The majority that met Castiel couldn't help but be slightly uncertain about the things they originally thought.

 

It was hard to hate Castiel when he was often playing in water like a little kid, or asking questions about things that really didn't seem to need explaining, or treating every single thing they took for granted like a luxury.

 

Despite her earlier wariness, Charlie came around. With Bobby and Rufus treating Castiel like a normal person, she couldn't help but be swayed. With enough nudging, she'd actually sat down and talked to him. It was now a regular routine for her to stop by just to sit down with Castiel and get all the information she could out of him. Her and Jo had a major fall out over it, and when asked about it, Charlie would not comment.

 

Others came around too, just curious and unable to help themselves. Dean and Sam practically paraded Castiel around like a prize-pony, singing his praises to anyone who would listen. Castiel didn't seem interested in getting people to like him; he acted the same as he always did, quirky and different, and some people took to him, while others didn't.

 

The ones who didn't care for Castiel didn't seem too stuck on attacking him, or worrying about his presence. Even if they didn't like him, they could grudgingly admit that he was no threat.

 

And every day that passed where Castiel didn't kill everyone through the night, at least one more person came to find out what their opinion of him would be.

 

Castiel still wasn't allowed in the huts, and he still slept outside, but people started greeting him in passing—albietly awkwardly, but they were trying. People invited him to join them in chores, most likely because he seemed so pleased to help, but still. No one said anything when he started eating in the Roadhouse with everyone, sitting at a table with Sam, Dean, and Charlie.

 

It was stunted and slow-going, but it was happening.

 

Dean, himself, was getting a little attached to the Angel. He knew he liked Castiel, was about his only ally, and would protect him from the others. _But_ he hadn't expected to be so… _happy_ to have him around.

 

Things were going fine until Jo suddenly sat down at their table during lunch one day. No warning, nothing, just plopped down beside Charlie and started eating with a scowl on her face.

 

Charlie stared at her. “Are you done?”

 

“Done with what?” Jo muttered, immediately taking a rough bite out of the frog leg she held in her grip.

 

“Done with pouting like an asshole,” Charlie clarified conversationally.

 

“I _told_ you—”

 

“And _I_ said—”

 

“But—”

 

“No! I said what I said! If you can't—”

 

Jo slammed her hand down on the table, making all their plates rattle. “We haven't had sex in a week,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

 

Dean choked on his bite of potato.

 

“And we can _continue_ not having sex until you apologize,” Charlie barreled on, tilting her chin up.

 

“Oh, come on!” Jo exclaimed, throwing her hands up as she shifted into place. Her voice dropped into a whine as she continued, “Charlie, you know—”

 

Charlie arched an eyebrow, making Jo's mouth snap shut. “You can apologize, or you can abstain, unless you'd rather find someone else to have sex with.”

 

“You tryna break up with me?” Jo huffed.

 

“We're in a fight, but I'm not breaking up with you. My statement still stands. Apologize, go without sex, or find someone who will put up with your bullshit,” Charlie told her, ducking her head and meticulously cutting her meat with shaking hands.

 

Jo's face softened. “Oh, babe, you know I wouldn't want anyone else. C'mere.”

 

Dean had no idea what was going on right now. He was either the least observant person in the community, or Jo and Charlie had been dating on the low. Judging by Sam's mouth hanging open as Jo took Charlie's face in her hands and kissed her, their eyes slipping closed, Dean guessed it was the latter.

 

Castiel took a bite of his potatoes and watched Jo and Charlie kiss sweetly with the air of a man who had known this all along.

 

When they broke apart, Charlie said, “We're still not having sex until you apologize.”

 

Jo rolled her eyes and turned to Castiel, licking her lips and clearing her throat. “Sorry for saying I was gonna fry up your wings and eat them.”

 

“That's okay,” Castiel replied, lips twitching faintly.

 

Thank god for Jo's libido.

 

Dean waved his fork between them. “So, when did this happen?”

 

“We've always been into each other,” Charlie said with a snort. “You couldn't tell?”

 

“I didn't even know Jo was gay.”

 

“Happened right around the time I saw your dick in the cove. Changed my life, Winchester.” Jo gave a wicked grin when Sam snorted into his juice.

 

Dean huffed a breath and shook his head at Castiel, waving a hand. “Don't listen to her; she never saw my dick,” he assured him.

 

“Oh, I didn't? So there isn't a little freckle beside—”

 

“Jo, what the fuck!”

 

“It was a troubling time for me,” Jo said solemnly.

 

“My dick is a gift,” Dean growled, turning to Castiel again and jolting his hands out. “My dick did _not_ turn her gay, I swear.”

 

Castiel blinked at him. “I would hope not. Revulsion to male genitalia does not make a woman gay; it's her preference to other women's genitals that does.”

 

Dean buried his head into his hands and groaned.

 

“Angel's got a point. Pretty much knew I was gay when I couldn't stop looking at Charlie's boobs, so there's that,” Jo announced.

 

Sam was nearly out of his seat with laughter, only small wheezing breaking from his chest as he shook. Dean shot him a glare and turned to the one person he knew wouldn't laugh at him. A bright gaze met his, blue eyes lit up with amusement.

 

_Traitor._

 

“Well, I've been gay since I tried to play married and wanted Eileen to be my spouse when we were, what, three or four?” Charlie cracked a grin and shrugged shamelessly. “Sometimes you just know.”

 

“Are we all having a sexuality conversation right now?” Sam asked curiously. “Because, listen, I'm totally down for talking about the first time I—”

 

“If anything comes out of your mouth suggesting sex of any sort, I _will_ gag,” Dean cut him off sharply.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up, if I had to put up with you going on and on about what you and Ash got up to in the stones, you can listen to me talk about the first time I—”

 

“Nope,” Dean declared, standing up from the table and shaking his head. “Ash and I did some amazing things at the stones, so _everyone_ had to hear about it. But I cannot, in good conscience, listen to whatever you're about to say. Cas, come on.”

 

“But I wanted to hear what Sam was going to say. Also, who is Ash?” Castiel replied, little pout forming between his eyebrows.

 

Everyone all pointed to the table at the back where Ash was sitting alone, papers strewn everywhere. The crown of his hair was the only thing visible as he bent over a piece of paper, crayon moving wildly as he drew. He bobbed his head to some unknown song, fingers tapping the table to a beat no one could hear.

 

Dean sighed. “Yeah, we were great, but then he fell in love with his art, and I got my eyes on Nina, and we've been friends ever since. Good times.”

 

“Anyway,” Sam started.

 

“And that's my cue,” Dean chirped, backing up a few steps. “You sure you don't want to come, Cas? I'll take you to the water again, practically no one's there at this time anyway.”

 

Castiel looked conflicted for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Apparently, the water won out, because he moved from the table too, careful that his wings didn't knock into anyone.

 

They left with little waves over their shoulders, Dean doing his absolute best not to listen to the words _Sarah_ and _Heath_ slip from Sam's lips. A few people nodded at them as they ducked outside, keeping a wide berth from the huts. They mostly stayed away because Cas wasn't allowed in them, but John spent most of his time shut off in his office, looking for loopholes in the treaties, so that was another reason to steer clear.

 

A few kids scuttled by, but Claire came to a screeching halt when she saw Castiel. Her eyes flickered over him, narrowing as they zeroed in on his wings.

 

“Hey, you can fly, right?” she asked.

 

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Great, can you get our ball?” Claire pointed to one of the huts, where the community ball sat on the roof, caught right in a corner.

 

The ball wasn't much more than dried out deerhide patched together with cotton from the fields stuffed in it, but the kids loved the thing. Dean could remember kicking it around on the beach with Jo and Sam when he was younger. He had no idea how it got up on the roof of the hut, but he was pretty sure that it was Kevin's fault.

 

“Jeez, how long has that been up there?” Dean muttered, squinting at it.

 

Claire scowled, young face contorting. “About a week. Donna said she was gonna make another one for us, but no one has went to hunt any deer. Kevin tossed it up there by accident, so we don't have anything to play with.”

 

_Bingo._

 

Castiel looked stricken. “I will retrieve this for you, child. Excuse me, I will only be a moment.”

 

Before Dean could think to stop him, Castiel stretched his wings out and launched into the air. He shot up quickly, sailing straight up and curving towards his target, wings beating smoothly as he twisted and drew closer to the ball.

 

Dean gaped up at his form, watching in awe as he moved through the air. It was beautiful, and in a way, terrifying. Flying made Castiel look like he belonged in the air, wings and body forming as one unit. He was quick, nearly too quick to focus on. The Hunter within Dean knew just how much that made him a threat, but the part of Dean that admired Castiel—which was a lot of him, if he was honest—was left stunned by the display.

 

He was not the only one.

 

A low murmur started up as people came to a halt, watching with rapt attention as Castiel flew to the roof and retrieved the ball. He hovered there for a moment, examining it, and his toes pointed straight down, wings flapping lazily to hold him in place. Then, he turned and flew back, dipping above their heads and lowering to the ground beside Dean and Claire with striking finesse.

 

“Here you go,” Castiel said, holding out the ball.

 

Claire was staring at him with wide eyes, mouth parted in a small circle. Dean was pretty sure his expression matched hers.

 

“Thank you,” Claire said quietly, blinking rapidly as she took the ball and scurried over to her whispering friends.

 

“Dude,” Dean said, but that was all he could get out.

 

Castiel suddenly seemed to realize that everyone was gaping at him. He looked around warily, wings drawing closer to his back. “Should I have not done that?”

 

“No, you're fine. I mean, everything is fine. It's—it's all fine,” Dean said, words stumbling out from his mouth without any brainpower to back it up.

 

Fuck, this was a problem.

 

Dean had gotten pretty used to thinking Castiel was attractive; he'd been sure of that fact since day one. He did his best to ignore just how fucking _unfair_ Castiel was in the looks department, and he actively tried not to dwell on how it affected him.

 

He was a human, he had needs, and he hadn't been with anyone in nearly a year, not with how strict his training had got for his first hunt.

 

Dean had to remind himself more than normal that Castiel was an Angel, that they couldn't do anything, even if Castiel would have been interested. But that was a path not worth going down, not with how spectacularly _bad_ it would end. And there was also the fact that Castiel would probably be killed if he even hinted at any interest.

 

He hadn't though, and Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved or a little offended by that. To be fair, Dean had kept his… curiosities to himself, but Castiel was fairly blunt. If he had any interest, he'd probably just tell Dean he did.

 

Whatever, they weren't compatible anyway. And there would be a lot of feelings and confusion, because Dean wasn't about to fall in love with a freaking Angel—that was just too far. They'd have to keep it purely physical, and he wasn't sure how Castiel felt about those sorts of relations.

 

Besides, what they had now, the bond and easy friendship clear to anyone who would look… it was good. Really good, in fact. Good enough that Dean didn't want to lose it, didn't want to risk it.

 

“Dean, I think we are in trouble,” Castiel suddenly spoke up, wary. He nodded over Dean's shoulder, jaw setting as his eyes sparked with anger.

 

Dean whirled around and all thoughts of his relationship with Castiel flew out his mind. His father was marching along the sand, heading right for them with a stride that spoke volumes about what was coming. People all around stopped, nosy and eager to see what would happen.

 

“Dad,” Dean started.

 

John waved a hand, shutting him down. He stepped forward and poked Castiel's chest. “Just what the _fuck_ do you think you were doing?”

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “The child asked for her ball to be retrieved. Is there something within the treaty saying I cannot fly?”

 

“I don't know who you think you are, but you will _not_ talk to me any kind of way. You stay on the ground, you hear me? If I catch you in the air again, I'll assume it is a threat.” John flicked cold eyes to Dean, lips curling down. “If you fly, Dean is going to kill you. Think about that next time you decide to do it.”

 

“Dad, he was just—”

 

“Not a word out of you, Dean.”

 

Dean opened his mouth, trying to explain, trying to convey just how _helpful_ Castiel was being. John whirled on him with narrowed eyes, shaking his head jerkily, practically daring him to say something after he'd been told not to. Feeling like a child, Dean slowly closed his mouth and looked to his feet. His stomach churned, skin prickling with anxiety.

 

“I will do as you ask, for _Dean's_ sake, not my own. But you should be aware,” Castiel spoke softly, pausing as he tilted his chin up and met John's gaze steadily, “I am not afraid of you.”

 

John gave a small huff of laughter. “You should be. Tread carefully, Angel.”

 

“Dad, come on,” Dean mumbled, shuffling awkwardly in place.

 

Quietly, John hissed, “What did I say?”

 

Dean was a grown ass man, but he hunkered down under his father's sharp gaze and harsh tone. It was ingrained in him to follow orders. He didn't exactly have an issue with that before, but when it came to Castiel, apparently, he struggled with it.

 

Even still, Dean snapped his mouth together with an audible click, swallowing thickly. Unable to say anything, he just nodded.

 

“You shouldn't talk to him like that,” Castiel said quietly, looking at John as if what he saw was just pathetic.

 

John's eyes scanned from Dean to land on Castiel, jaw working. “You don't tell me how—”

 

“No,” Castiel interrupted sharply, “ _you_ don't tell _me_ what to do, what to say, nor what to think. You treat your son horribly when he deserves better.”

 

Dean didn't know if his respect for Castiel was skyrocketing, or if he should step in and speak up for his father. In a weird mixture of confused feelings, Castiel became his freaking _hero_ in a span of a few seconds, and he turned into someone Dean needed to reprimand. He wasn't sure what the fuck to do, so he did nothing; he continued to stay silent, just as his father ordered him to.

 

“I don't give a shit what you think.” John gave a shrug, careless. “Your opinion does not count.”

 

Castiel tilted his head. “Funny, even your own people agree, though they'd never say such a thing. Everyone is afraid of you; I can only imagine why, as I see you for what you are. John Winchester, you rule in fear, not love. You're no leader, you're a tyrant.”

 

Dean watched wide eyed as his father's back snapped straight, feet spreading apart. He knew that stance, had seen it coming to him throughout the years when his father came to spar with him during training. It always ended with him flat on his ass, his father scoffing at him as he walked away. He knew _exactly_ what was coming and what it would result in.

 

Castiel would not simply take it; he didn't have it in him. Then, he'd be fighting Dean's father, and it would spiral from there. Dean had no idea what he'd do in that situation, whether he'd kick Castiel's ass for touching his father, or yank his father off and try to save Castiel. Fuck, he really didn't want to find out either.

 

That's why, when John's fists clenched, Dean stepped to the side, placing himself in front of Castiel. Sure, he'd get his ass kicked, but at least Castiel wouldn't have to leave.

 

“Don't,” Dean said softly, shaking his head.

 

All the fight left his father, just as quickly as it had come. His fists loosened and his shoulders sagged. Dean blinked, surprised, but then he was sure he'd vomit when he registered the look on his father's face.

 

John stared at Dean like he didn't know him, like he couldn't fathom what Dean even was. Dean had been privy to many of his looks—the disappointed ones, the angry ones, the disgusted ones, and even on rare occasions, the amused ones—but he'd never seen his father look at him like _this._ Like Dean was just as strange of a concept as Castiel, like he didn't know him at all, like he wasn't his son.

 

The stare made him feel like he was getting cut at the knees while someone suctioned all the air from his lungs.

 

“Where did I go wrong with you?” John whispered, looking ashen and hollow.

 

Dean's throat clicked when he swallowed. “You act like I'm some big disappointment, but I'm _not._ Dad, I'm just doing what's right. Why can't you see that?”

 

“The only thing right is his head on a stake.” John nodded at Castiel. “You don't even know what they're capable of.”

 

“Do you?” Dean spat. His pain was quickly morphing to anger, true to Winchester form. “He likes water, and he's never had pie, and he is obsessed with bees. He cares about kids, and he misses his siblings, and he saved my _life._ He's not some monster, okay? He has feelings and wants and dreams. Just—just _try._ Dad, for once in your life, just fucking try.”

 

John blinked once and said, “When you were four years old and Sammy was just a baby, your mother went out on a hunt. We alternated around you and Sam, and it was supposed to be my turn, but you begged me to stay home and Sam wouldn't sleep anywhere besides my arms. She said she'd go, and I kissed her goodbye, and she never came home.” His voice hitched just as it always did when he talked about Mary. “They killed her, you know. These Angels you love so much, they took your mother away from us and slaughtered her. So _no,_ Dean, I will not try, because your mother deserves better than that, better than a son who spits on her memory by glorifying the very thing that took her from her fucking family.”

 

With that, John turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Dean to break apart alone.

  
  


 

 

 

  
  


“Hey.”

 

Dean poked at the ground with a stick, not looking up. “Hey,” he said quietly.

 

Sam sat down beside him, their shoulders bumping together. Dean continued to poke at the ground, watching the dirt form a ring around the stick. It grew larger as he rotated the stick, slowly starting a path. He drew it back and forth, mind blank.

 

“Cas told me,” Sam offered.

 

Dean hummed. “How'd you take it?”

 

“Eh, I mean… I kinda already guessed, if that makes sense. We knew she was killed on a hunt; it didn't take a lot of brainpower to figure out why Dad tried to kill as many Angels as he could.”

 

“Well, I'm glad you're so fucking smart.”

 

They went silent as the breeze curdled through the air, making Sam's hair fluff and brush Dean's shoulder. There was a faint tension around them, an argument on the edges just waiting to crowd it. Dean didn't want to argue, didn't want to do anything.

 

“Look,” Sam said, taking a deep breath, “I know it's different for you. I never got to know Mom, but you still remember her.”

 

Dean swallowed thickly. “She was good and kind, and she made Dad soft. And… and they took her from us. You never got to know her, I never got to keep her… because of _them.”_

 

More silence. Sam was choosing his words carefully, Dean could tell.

 

“I looked into it, you know. I talked to Cas and went over the records. We've had fifteen reported deaths at the hands of Angels in the last thirty years, including Mom.”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“In the last thirty years, Dad _alone_ has killed nine Angels, and that's not even counting the few he killed before then. Plus, there's the ones that Bobby and Rufus killed, and Ellen, and Jody, and Donna, and Grandpa, and-”

 

“Okay, Sam, I get it,” Dean snapped, cutting him off.

 

“I don't think you do,” Sam murmured.

 

Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It's different, okay? It was our _Mom._ I can't… I can't, Sam. I can't let that go.”

 

“So, don't. No one is telling you to. Be angry, be upset, hate the Angel who took our mom from us. But don't hate them all. Just like we have bad people on our side, so do they. And it's not like we haven't been giving as good as we got.” Sam clicked his tongue and sighed. “It's not a crime to kill each other, not on either side.”

 

“Do you think she'd hate me?” Dean croaked, tucking his chin to his chest and blinking his eyes open, trying to get rid of the tears.

 

Sam gave a thoughtful hum. “You know, Bobby used to tell me stories about Mom when I was growing up. I never knew her, so I was always curious. And his favorite story to tell me was the time she and her dad got into a huge fight about Dad. He didn't want them to be together, and he didn't want her to be a Hunter, and when she fought with him, the whole community could hear it. Bobby said that even _Rufus_ had blushed at how much she'd cussed. I'd asked why she did it, and Bobby told me that it was because Mom always did the right thing, always stuck by what she believed in, and she didn't let _anyone,_ not even her dad, stop her.”

 

“Yeah, but Dad didn't kill her mom either,” Dean choked out, the tears breaking loose. His breath rattled out of him and he brought his arms up to block his face.

 

“Cas didn't kill Mom, Dean,” Sam told him gently, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “He's good, you _know_ that. I promise you, if Mom was here, she'd probably be on your side.”

 

And that was it. Dean couldn't stop it, couldn't keep his chest from cracking around the pain. He cried in earnest, feeling so fucking weak and _stupid_ but couldn't stop. The hand rubbed his shoulder for a moment before disappearing.

 

“I'm getting Cas.”

 

Dean couldn't form words to say how he felt about that in either direction. He kept his knees bent, arms resting on the top, head ducked down in the empty space. He didn't move, not even when he felt feathers brush his back.

 

Castiel didn't say anything, just looped one wing around him and sat beside him in comfortable silence. The wing was warm and just the right amount of heavy, and Dean leaned into it without permission, fucking sobbing his little heart out, hating every single moment.

 

When he didn't have any more tears to give, he was left with a raw feeling in his chest. He kept his head down and brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the wetness away and breathing deeply. Fuck, he was dreading picking up his head.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said to his lap.

 

Castiel heard him and simply replied, “I know.”

 

Dean had plenty to be sorry for. After his father had dropped that bombshell on him, Dean had walked away in a daze, fucking confused and hurt. Castiel had followed silently, his wariness obvious. They'd reached the woods before Castiel had tried to say something, and that's where Dean unloaded on him.

 

He'd said really shitty things to Castiel that he didn't deserve. He'd called him a monster, had blamed him, had demanded he just fucking _leave._ There had been plenty of yelling on both their parts, and Dean hadn't ever seen Castiel so worked up, not like that, not full of passion and heat. And when he'd left, Dean had walked to the open field by the waterfalls and tried to stop thinking.

 

And here Castiel was… _forgiving_ him.

 

“You didn't deserve that.”

 

“You didn't deserve to find out like that. Your mother did not deserve to die. You do not deserve the pain you feel.”

 

Dean lifted his head, sucking in a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “I still shouldn't have said those things to you. Cas, you're—you're one of the best things that's ever happened to me. You're my best friend.”

 

Dean turned his head to see how that went over, and Castiel was gazing at him with a soft look. Other people spoke of how Castiel always kept his face blank and didn't express much, but Dean had always been able to figure out at least a bit of what he was feeling, just by looking into those blue eyes. Now, they were wide and so fond, just staring at Dean like he had hung the moon.

 

Quirking a small smile, Castiel murmured, “How about we let it be water under the bridge?”

 

“Yeah, yeah I can get behind that,” Dean said with a quiet chuckle.

 

“And for the record, you're my best friend too.”

 

Dean grinned down at his feet, trying valiantly to hide his smile. The wing pressed to his back fluttered, rippling against him, and he turned to look at it. Up close, he could see the disarray of the feathers, some half out, some in the wrong direction. The closer to his back the wing got, the worse it was. It didn't look painful, not to Dean at least, but it reminded him of someone not brushing their hair for a long time.

 

“Shit,” Dean cursed, blinking, “you don't have anyone to groom you. Fuck, I didn't think of that.”

 

Castiel glanced at his wing. “Oh, I usually get what I can reach before sleep.”

 

Dean pursed his lips for a moment. “Alright, turn around,” he said decisively.

 

“What, why?”

 

“Because I'm gonna groom you, duh.”

 

“Oh, you don't have to—”

 

“Just turn around, Cas.”

 

Slowly, Castiel did as Dean asked. And yeah, it was about more than just helping his buddy out. He needed to _do_ something for the forgiveness Castiel had given him so freely. Castiel had mentioned that grooming was soothing, so that could work.

 

Shifting on his butt, Dean scooted behind Castiel, hunching forward to get a good look at the feathers. They were layered, cascading over each other, and obviously a fucking _mess._ Dean honestly didn't know how Castiel stood it.

 

Dean had always had a thing about fixing things and smoothing them out. He liked neatness where it needed to be. He folded the clothes in the family, and he kept the curtains straight, and he did Sam's hair before any event. There was something practical about making things tidy, and it felt like a small accomplishment where he couldn't get it from his father. Like yeah, his dad wasn't going to pat him on the back for doing a good move at training, but he would grunt in pleasure whenever Dean neatly lined his boots by the door.

 

In a way, this was like that.

 

Castiel didn't really have to tell him what to do. He just reached out and started… fixing. He tugged the feathers ready to shed, and he turned the ones that had flipped, and he untangled any others that got matted together. He started with one wing, making Castiel rotate every time he needed to reach a new portion, then switched to the next.

 

And it must have been soothing, because Castiel's head lolled on his neck, and he gave a few telling hums every now and again. By the time Dean was halfway through the second wing, Castiel's head was in his hand, eyes barely open.

 

Dean smiled fondly, feeling a bit proud. It was actually pretty calming to do, and it wasn't hard. The stray feathers all over him were a mess, but that didn't really bother him.

 

“All done,” Dean mumbled, dropping the wing in his hands and scooting back.

 

Castiel jolted up with a snort, eyes blinking open as he looked at Dean. “Oh. Thank you. That feels… much better,” he said.

 

Dean watched him stand, wings snapping out and flaring. The flexed, almost like fingers, and Dean watched the feathers separate and tremble in fascination. It was just… _cool._

 

“I can do that for you, if you want,” Dean offered, licking his lips.

 

“Okay,” Castiel said, but he was beaming.

 

“So… you wanna go for a swim?”

 

“I would love to.”

 

They started walking together towards the third stream, shoulders brushing with each step. Castiel paused at the edge, staring down at the water with a small frown.

 

“Dean, why don't you ever get in?”

 

Dean blinked. “Oh, I don't really _do_ water, if can help it. I mean, bathing, yeah, but that's not as deep and a stand under the waterfall in the cove. But that? Nah, I don't ever get in there.”

 

“Why?” Castiel asked softly.

 

“You probably already know.” Dean swallowed and gave a weak laugh. “After I almost drowned, I kinda had a fear of it. I don't go into the ocean, won't get in this stream. I just… can't.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“But hey, don't let me stop you. Go ahead, have fun. I'm perfectly content with sitting down and watching you.”

 

And as Castiel climbed into the water, ducking underneath the surface, Dean had to admit just how fucking true those words were. The water made his armor gleam and dripped down him in a way that had to be illegal, but Dean's favorite part was the smile on his face.

  
  


 

 

  
  


Dean had found Baby when he was barely twelve years old. She was a tiny thing, struggling to get to the ocean and gleaming in the sun. So young, he'd picked her up and took her home.

 

She had grown with him, getting bigger every year, black as the night. His dad hadn't been too pleased about it, and he'd regretted it later when he'd realized he'd took her from her natural habitat. But the thing was, Baby was perfectly fucking happy.

 

She had plenty to eat, plenty of room, and Dean and Sam. She may have just been a sea turtle, but she had a lot of personality. Dean and Sam had pretty much loved her since they had her, and it amazed the adults to no end just how much she loved them back. He'd tried to let her go when he got old enough to understand that she belonged in the ocean, but she'd refused to leave his side, so he took good care of her until she decided she was ready.

 

Fifteen years later, she still hadn't left.

 

Dean was stupidly proud of her, loved her like family, so naturally, when Cas asked who Baby was, he just _had_ to show her off.

 

Just as he was getting ready to heft her up and carry her outside—much to her disgruntlement—he caught sight of the feather under his pillow. He'd had that one feather ever since he was ten years old, and something warm unfurled in his stomach when he glanced at it.

 

He wondered what his ten-year-old self would say if he saw him now, still friends with the Angel that had saved his life.

 

Before he could stop himself, he picked up the feather and pocketed it with a little smile. Then, he grabbed up Baby, grunting at her weight—she was getting so much bigger now—and started back out the hut. He came to a halt when he saw his father sitting at his desk in his study, squinting down at an old, musty piece of paper.

 

Dean swallowed, frozen in place.

 

He and his father hadn't spoken since their last argument. They hadn't even interacted at all. Dean wasn't sure what he wanted to do. A part of him wanted to apologize, to just sit down and _talk_ to him like they hadn't in years. He missed his father, sometimes so much so that he felt as if his father had died right along with his mom.

 

A different part of him that railed within him, hot and sharp, demanded that he yell. Just stomp up to his father and be honest with him, tell him how shitty he was, spew out all the bitterness he had. There were many things that Dean wanted to unload on him, many things that his father deserved to hear. But he hadn't ever been brave enough to do it, or escaped the despaired acceptance he felt when it came to his father. This was just how things were, how they'd always be.

 

John looked up, catching his eye. They stared at each other for a moment, no feelings betrayed between either of them.

 

For a brief moment, just in a blink of an eye, it looked like his father was _sorry._ He looked like he wanted to apologize, maybe smooth things over, maybe actually _try_ for once. But just as quickly as the look came, it fell away, and John pointedly looked back to the paper, dismissing Dean.

 

Just like that.

 

Swallowing, Dean kept on walking.

 

As soon as he got outside and made it to the beach where Castiel was waiting, he sat Baby down. She scuttled along the sand, looking for the warmest spot she could find, and Dean walked over to Castiel with a strained smile.

 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asked softly, staring at him in blatant concern.

 

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his smile into something more genuine. “Yeah, I'm good. See Baby? Isn't she beautiful?”

 

Castiel looked over to where Baby was slowly making her way towards them. His eyes brightened as he took in her gleaming black shell and slow limbs. His smile stretched into something gummy and sweet, making his nose wrinkle just a bit. Dean was nearly taken out by the sight, mystified and in awe of such a beautiful picture.

 

 _Shit,_ he thought warily.

 

“She's magnificent,” Castiel announced.

 

Dean suddenly, out of nowhere, wanted to grab Castiel and just… _kiss_ him. He didn't know if it was as abrupt as he was hoping it was, but it was intense. His palms itched with the urge, lips tingling at the mere thought.

 

“Yeah,” Dean choked out, eyes wide, “magnificent.”

 

“I'm pleased you entrusted showing her to me, Dean. You clearly love her,” Castiel told him, still watching Baby crawl through the sand.

 

“I do. I mean, I've had her for nearly as long as I've had this.” Dean slowly put his hand in his pocket and grabbed the feather. He wasn't sure why, but he was nervous to reveal that he'd kept it for so long. Nearly seventeen years, and he'd never once thought of it as a big deal, until now. “Don't laugh, okay?”

 

“I'd never—”

 

Whatever Castiel was going to say was lost among the hitch in his throat as his eyes landed on the feather. It was the same color as the feathers he had, just smaller and not as neat. For a long moment, he just stared with wide blue eyes, not moving.

 

“Cas?”

 

Castiel blinked. “You—you kept it.”

 

“Yeah… I did.” Dean looked down at the feather, biting his lip. “I never really forgot about you, Cas. And even when I stopped thinking about you, I couldn't force myself to get rid of the feather.”

 

Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't a handful of Angel. He had to grip the feather and go solid as Castiel launched at him. Blinking rapidly, he stared at the wings fluttering in front of his eyes as Castiel gripped him in a tight embrace, face pressed into his shoulder.

 

“You have no idea what this means to me,” Castiel croaked into his neck, gravelly voice muffled.

 

Dean was pretty sure he didn't, but it ended up with Castiel in his arms, so he figured it was mostly a good thing. And it felt nice, especially considering the amount of hugs he'd ever gotten since he was twelve could be counted on both hands. Castiel was firm against him, warm and solid, and Dean's hands were flat against his back, soaking in the pleasant feeling of just being _held._

 

Seeming reluctant, Castiel pulled away. His eyes were bright as he dropped his arms and took a few steps back. Dean couldn't look away, didn't really want to. His best friend had the prettiest eyes the world had ever seen and that was a fact he'd argue for hours over.

 

 _Oh no,_ he thought desperately, throat going dry.

 

There were very few things in his world that could stop him from going in for a kiss. Even his own mind, practically blaring an alarm at him, demanding he _abort, abort,_ was no match for the urges that had gripped him. The only thing that could stop him was if the world spontaneously ended, Castiel jerked away, or his father suddenly made an appearance.

 

And just because his luck was shit, one of those things actually happened.

 

Castiel didn't jerk away, just stared at him patiently, like he was calm enough to see where this was going. But just before their lips could connect, there was a loud clearing of a throat, harsh and deep, one Dean knew with every inch of his being.

 

Dean yanked back, eyes going wide as he realized just in what direction he'd been heading. _Bad idea, Winchester,_ he thought. And for a second, he was grateful that his father stopped him in the nick of time. That is, until he saw his father's expression.

 

Eyebrows jerking up, lip curling in disgust, John snapped, “You done?”

 

Dean swallowed. “I wasn't—”

 

“Save it,” John said roughly, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “You, Angel, come with me.”

 

“And where am I going?” Castiel asked archly, not budging an inch.

 

“With me. We're going for a little walk.”

 

“I'd rather not.”

 

“Lucky for me,” John growled, narrowing his eyes and shoving his hands into his pockets, “you don't have a choice. You either come with me, or I'll exile my son. You two seem cozy, you'd follow him, wouldn't you?”

 

Dean felt like his stomach had fallen to his ankles, and he took in a shaky breath. Castiel glanced at him, mouth set in a hard line. They stared at each other for a moment, and Dean was trying to convey with his eyes just how _sorry_ he was.

 

“Fine,” Castiel suddenly said, voice clipped.

 

Dean jerked, blinking. “Cas—”

 

“I'll be fine, as will your father. We will return shortly, I'm sure. Do not worry.”

 

John didn't offer any reassurances, just turned around and marched away, leading Castiel into the woods, pointed in the direction of the bridge. Dean wasn't able to do anything _but_ worry.

 

He took Baby back in the hut, murmuring to her softly, trying to distract himself. He tucked his feather under his pillow, smiling down at it softly. Then, he walked back out to the beach and placed himself in direct line of the trees so he could wait and watch for their return.

 

Worry and dread crawled at his chest, and Dean had no idea what he'd do if only one of them returned—or worse, if neither of them did.

 

With nothing else to do, he waited.

  
  


 

 

 

  


Dean had tried to come to terms with the fact that maybe Castiel or his father would not walk back out of those woods, even as he'd hoped with everything in him that they would. But even acknowledging that didn't stop his breath from freezing in his lungs, or his hands from shaking, or his heart from nearly stopping for a second, not when his father stumbled from the woods with a hoarse shout.

 

He launched himself to his feet, running at full speed to get to him. He ignored the yells around the community, the barks for medical supplies. He just rushed to his father, concern nearly crushing him.

 

John looked as if he'd been to hell and back.

 

Blood nearly coated his whole face from a cut on his head, and there were bruises sweeping across his jaw. He held his side, breath rattling out of him, limping as he approached.

 

“Dad, Dad what happened?” Dean blurted as soon as he reached his side, taking his dangling arm and looping it over his shoulder, supporting his weight.

 

Mere seconds later, Sam was on his other side, holding him up as well. Just like that, they walked their father towards their hut.

 

“Angel, traitor, ambush,” John coughed out, head lolling from side to side.

 

Dean's eyes grew wide. “No, Cas wouldn't—”

 

“Dean, not now,” Sam hissed, cutting him off.

 

Ellen was a flurry as she banged open the door to their hut, careless to their privacy in such a serious moment. “Bring him in, put him in that chair. Go wait with Jo.”

 

Dean and Sam both protested. “But—”

 

“No,” Ellen snapped sharply, leveling them with a harsh glare, “I need to work in peace. Go wait with Jo, boys, and don't make me tell you again. Go!”

 

As much as they dreaded it, they did as she asked.

 

They were silent as they walked outside, avoiding the eyes of the people loitering around their hut with whispers and wide eyes. They found a spot with Jo and Charlie and stayed there, silent.

 

Dean couldn't have spoke if he wanted to. He was pretty sure that someone had reached right into him and scraped everything out, snatching his heart as it went. His mind kept looping back to what his father said about Castiel, back to the fact that Castiel didn't step out those trees.

 

Was he dead? Was his father going to live? Dean had no idea what the fuck was happening, but he knew he wasn't ready to find out.

  


 

 

 

 

  


John got off pretty light, all things considered.

 

Ellen had come out and announced that he'd be fine with some rest and relaxation, and with firm orders to leave him alone, she'd left the people to their gossiping. Later, she'd pulled them aside and told them it had looked worse than it was—John would be sore and weak, but he'd be fine.

 

That was one less thing that worried the everloving shit out of Dean.

 

He and Sam managed to wait the rest of the day and night before heading home to grill their father. They'd stayed at Bobby and Rufus’, sleeping on cots they hadn't fit on in years. They ate breakfast with them in silence, then went straight home.

 

Their father did look better after rest and being cleaned up. He was propped up on their old, ratty sofa pieced together with some splintering wood and hide. When they'd entered, he'd jerked his head at the chairs, demanding their audience.

 

“You okay?” Dean asked quietly as he turned the chair in the opposite direction and straddled it, leaning on his arms that rested on top.

 

John gave half a shrug. “I'll be alright, nothing I ain't used to. I can still kick both of your asses, so don't go getting any ideas.”

 

It was rare for their father to joke with them, so they both exhaled shocked laughs, grinning down at their laps in unison. Sam shot a look at him when they both looked back up, something light in his eyes. It was weird as fuck, but they both loved their dad, and in moments like these, they couldn't help but show it. Dean quirked a small smile, trying to match the atmosphere, but it was hard with his mind running in circles over Castiel.

 

He couldn't help it.

 

“Dad, what—what happened?” Dean murmured, throat working a little harder than before.

 

John leveled him with a heavy stare. “I told you, I really did. That Angel wasn't nothing more than a monster biding his time.”

 

Dean's stomach churned, blue eyes dancing in his mind. He wanted… god, he wanted so many things in that moment. But what he wanted most was for his father's words to be a lie.

 

“What happened?” Sam echoed more firmly.

 

“I was just gon’ take him down be the rapids, in the dip, not far from where he saved you from drowning, Dean. Honestly, I was just threatening him, trying to goad him into getting himself killed.” John looked absolutely shameless. “I needled at him, but he didn't take the bait. I guess he didn't have to, not in the end.”

 

“Why? Why would you do that?” Dean croaked, blinking rapidly. “He wasn't doing anything wrong.”

 

“But he was,” John countered sharply, eyes flashing in anger briefly. “Say what you want, Dean, but he was using you, playing you like a fiddle. And you were _letting_ him. I did it to protect you, and it's a damn good thing I did.”

 

“No,” Dean said fiercely, white-knuckling the top of the chair. “He never _once_ hurt anyone, least of all _me._ You didn't do this for me, you did this for you. Dad, you wanted him gone, that much was obvious, so what did you _do?”_

 

“You watch your tone with me, boy.” John curled his lip at Dean, eyes narrowing. “I know you have an infatuation with that Angel, you have since you were a kid, but I ain't no liar. Like I said, I didn't have to do anything. Before I could get anything out of him, the other Angels showed up. We were out of the patrol area, so it was just me and them. Naomi congratulated him, Dean… she told him he'd done well. This was his plan all along.”

 

Dean was pretty sure he was going to vomit. There were many things his father was, but a liar really wasn't one. He didn't care to hold his tongue, said things bluntly and honesty, even when a little white lie would be more appropriate. And Dean always knew when his father was holding something back, could tell by the briskness of his tone and the dismissal in his eyes.

 

His father was not lying, and he had no qualms about laying this all out there for them both. In fact, he was relishing in it. Fucked up as it was, their father was basically blasting just how right he'd been all along without any sympathy.

 

Still, Dean whispered, “No.” His voice cracked and the word was more of a plea than denial.

 

John didn't look apologetic. “He didn't fight, the coward. He yelled a lot, but he didn't make a move in either direction—didn't really have the time. I got my hands on one of his siblings—a feisty redheaded thing—and killed her. That pretty much froze him in place. After nearly getting my ass handed to me, I rushed home and they didn't follow me.”

 

Sam let out a low breath. “You killed Anna; you killed his older sister. She's not much older than Dean, Dad, _fuck.”_

 

“And I was supposed to, what, let them kill me instead?” John snorted in annoyance. “I don't care how much you boys love the beasts, I ain't losing my life for 'em.”

 

Dean didn't know what to say, what to do, what to think. He was trying to come up with some way that it wasn't _true._ Castiel wouldn't—he wouldn't just _do_ that. Dean knew him, or he thought he did.

 

No.

 

He was _not_ going to let this consume him. He was not his father, and he sure as hell wasn't going to adopt his beliefs. He knew Castiel, knew just how good he was. Something wasn't adding up.

 

“What did you do to him?” Dean growled roughly, glaring at his father.

 

John's face went slack. “After all that, you still don't get it? He didn't care about you, son. I know—” his lips twisted in open disgust, “I _know_ you cared about him, but it wasn't the same for him. You were nothing more than a link to me.”

 

“If that was the case, he would have gotten you alone a lot sooner, or tried to kill you _way_ before now. _You_ made him follow you to those woods, and _you_ were the one who wanted to kill him, and _you_ did this. So, what is the truth, Dad? Did he put up a fight before you killed him? Are those wounds because of him? What the _fuck_ did you do to him? Because I swear, on _Mom,_ that if you—”

 

The rest of his rant was lost in the sound of their door banging open. Jo rushed into the hut, eyes wide, and declared, “Cas—he's back. He's—”

 

Dean didn't need to know more. He was out of his seat faster than anyone else, careless of his father's shouts. Sam called after him, tried to reach out and stop him, but Dean slipped right past them at breakneck speeds, mind blank and focused.

 

In the span of a few moments, he'd gone from believing his father, to _not_ believing him and thinking Castiel was dead. The relief he felt at finding out the opposite overshadowed any wariness he should have been feeling.

 

Castiel was waiting at the edge of the straggling community, head ducked and wings dipped down. They sagged, just like his shoulders, and Dean wanted to fix them, wanted to lift Castiel's head and comfort him. Mostly, he wanted to get his hands on him, just make sure he was alright.

 

Figuring out what the fuck happened could come after. Castiel was his best friend, and Dean needed him to be okay more than he needed himself to.

 

“Cas!”

 

Castiel's head snapped up just in time for Dean to launch himself off the steps and barrel right into him. He forgot that Hunters weren't really the type for physical affection, and he didn't have it in him to care that people were staring at him as he wrapped Castiel into a tight hug. Nothing mattered except for Castiel's arms circling around him, returning the hug with a soft sigh into his ear.

 

“Dean,” he rumbled happily.

 

The need to _know,_ to understand, took over. Where his father would omit, Castiel would tell the plain truth. Dean pulled back and breathed, “What happened, Cas?”

 

“I'm sorry I didn't return. I was accosted by my family. Dean, they—”

 

“Let go of him, _now!”_

 

Instinct pushed him to follow his father's order before he could think not to. He dropped his arms and whirled around. The moment he saw the gun, he backed into Castiel, grabbing his wrists and holding him in place. He could feel Castiel's chest pressed against his back, could feel the thud of his heartbeat, could feel Castiel's breath wafting over the back of his neck.

 

“Dad,” Sam pleaded, inching closer to their father, who leaned against a post, gun pointed directly at Dean, “please don't. We can't just—”

 

“He's a traitor! I told him, one wrong move and he'd be dead.” John stared resolutely at Dean. “This time, I won't hesitate to pull the trigger.”

 

It was, ironically, the same moment as the one that brought Castiel to this side of the island, expect for the spectators watching on the sidelines. No one twitched or breathed a word, too caught in the tension, waiting to see what would happen. Dean could feel his heart racing in his chest, naked fear slithering down his back.

 

“You said I would have to do it.” Dean swallowed thickly, gripping Castiel's wrists tight enough to bruise. “You _promised_ I would have to kill him.”

 

“You won't do it; you're too weak.”

 

“You're right, I _won't._ I haven't ever asked anything from you, not once. I've done everything I could to make you proud. I tried _everything._ I know you are disappointed in me, okay? I know that. But if you love me, even a little bit, you'll stop.”

 

Dean felt so vulnerable, laid open like that. There was no taking back what he said, and anyone who'd known them long enough knew it was the truth. It was weak, but for Castiel, he would be.

 

The gun didn't lower this time. “I'm only going to tell you this once, Dean,” John murmured, voice devoid of emotion, eyes blank in a frightening way. “Move.”

 

No one moved.

 

Everyone waited with a bated breath to see what Dean would do, to see how far he'd push it. But the thing was, Dean was tired of pushing, tired of toeing a line he didn't know how to be on either side of. He didn't know where he'd went wrong; maybe it had started when he was ten and he looked into a pair of blue eyes that he wanted to see forever. Maybe it happened along the way, after all the time he'd spent with Castiel, never wanting him to leave. Maybe it had nothing to with the Angel at all and everything to do with his father threatening him with a gun—like no father ever should.

 

Somehow, it felt like all of it.

 

In that moment, he liked to think that he was not afraid to die for what he believed in. But that was not true. He was terrified; there were many things he'd be losing. Friends and family and a full life, but most of all… _Sam._ His brother was the most important thing to him, the pillar to the bridge of his life, the reason for crossing.

 

But something in Dean knew that if he didn't stand up for what was right, Sam would never see him the same. Yes, he'd be happy Dean was alive, but the way he looked up to him, following his guidance, needing his advice… that would go away. Dean didn't want to let him down just as much as he didn't want to leave him. The only thing that stopped him from moving as his father ordered him to do was that it was the right thing to do to stay still, to save Castiel, to set an admirable example for Sam.

 

So, as much as it terrified him, Dean closed his eyes and pressed back into Castiel, letting out a slow breath. No said a thing, no one budged an inch, but he could feel the shock coursing through the community all the same. Even without looking, he knew they'd all swung their eyes to John, waiting to see what he would do.

 

Ultimately, it was his choice.

 

The gun went off, loud and cracking in the air, and Dean's breath caught as his body jerked reflexively. His eyes snapped open, fully expecting to see a bullet coming for him, but his father had the gun pointed to the ground, eyes blazing.

 

“The next shot will be for you. Move, Dean, or so help me…” John's voice trailed off, but the threat lingering in his eyes spoke volumes.

 

Defiantly, Dean set his jaw and said, “No.”

 

John's face cleared, anger almost draining away. He looked sad then. “You're so much like your mother,” he said softly, the gun slowly lowering.

 

Dean almost didn't believe it. He stood stock still, still backed up against Castiel, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His heart had gotten lodged in his throat at his father's words, the mere thought of embodying his mother making him ache and feel relief all at once.

 

“Let him explain,” Dean said, begging.

 

John shook his head. “No. Stubborn as you are, you're goddamned stupid. The Angel is exiled, never to return to our home again. And you, Dean, may never leave it.”

 

With a stern nod, John sent people into a flurry. Two men grabbed him by the shoulders, tearing him away from Castiel without preamble. He fought, kicking and yelling, watching with wide eyes as Castiel was shoved back towards the bridge. Sam tried to rush forward, to help in some way, but their father reached out and halted him, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him back.

 

He was shoved into the hut with his father barking orders for him to be put in his room. He flailed, growling and shoving, managing to get a few kicks in. But he was unceremoniously dropped to his floor, the door shutting with a sharp slam. Dean panted on the floor in a heap, heart racing as he heard the lock from the outside flip.

 

Four days after Dean had befriended an Angel at ten, his father had flipped the lock around as a threat. He'd never used it, never had to. Until now.

 

Dean surged forward, slamming his body against the door, and railed against his sudden prison, screeching and kicking. Obscenities and accusations flew from his mouth, but no one gave a reply, not even Sam. He wasn't even sure if there was anyone even in the hut anymore.

 

Sagging against the door, Dean slid down and pressed his face against the cool wood. He strained his ears, listening for any gunshots or yelling, for anything really.

 

There was nothing.

 

Nothing.


	5. Part Five

_Love is the bridge between you and everything_

_-Rumi_

  


* * *

 

  


Dean was twenty-seven years old when he learned that bridges weren't meant to seperate, but connect.

 

The early morning sun drifted through the slats in the curtain covering the window, shining on the multitude of dust particles floating through the air. Dean laid on his bed, watching the sunlight slowly crawl across the floor as it rose higher and higher.

 

It was his birthday.

 

Dean knew this because when he'd woken, there had been a slip of paper slid under his door—a note from Sam, written in messy, rushed scrawl wishing him a happy twenty-seventh.

 

He'd spent his last birthday training, being honed for one purpose, and at the end of the day, he'd spread out in the sitting room with Sam, eating pie and laughing into the night. Back then, he hadn't even thought about what could all change in a year, hadn't expected anything to happen to him.

 

He was feeling that again this year, but in a much darker mindset.

 

If it was his birthday, it meant that he had been locked in his room for nearly a week. That meant he'd been fed once a day, hadn't had any visitors or updates… _for six days._ Plenty could happen in six days, yet nothing had at all.

 

Dean lifted the feather off his chest and stared up at it, stroking the soft parts. He sighed, mind circling back to the one thing he wanted to know.

 

Castiel. Was he alive? Did he make it out, go home?

 

Closing his eyes, Dean let the feather drop back to his chest, breathing heavily through his nose. He was fucking _bored,_ and angry, and worried. But most of all, he missed Castiel. He had endless questions, but all he wanted to do was have Castiel standing next to him; just a little too close, like normal.

 

There was a soft knock on his door that had him jolting up, eyes wide. He shoved the feather under his pillow and stood up, broadening his stance.

 

His father had not folded in his idea. He'd locked Dean away and hadn't even stopped to talk to him. He didn't reply to Dean's demands when he audibly stomped by his room every morning, and he never was the one to open the door at some random time, pushing in a tray of food and quickly shutting the door before Dean could even react.

 

Dean was still on edge, waiting for his ass-kicking.

 

But the door opened and it wasn't his father. Sam slipped in and closed the door with a soft click, looking up with a bright grin. His eyes danced in mischief; they both knew he wasn't supposed to be in Dean's room, the rebel.

 

“Sammy?” Dean whispered, quietly shuffling across the room and pulling him into a hug.

 

Sam chuckled quietly in his ear. “Happy birthday, Dean. How are ya holding up?”

 

“I'm managing,” Dean replied gruffly, backing away and swallowing. “Cas, is he…”

 

“Dad actually let him go.” Sam gave a surprised look, shrugging. “I'm not entirely sure why, but I think it was because of Bobby and Rufus. They were the ones who forced him to go to the bridge.”

 

“They were?” Dean frowned, feeling a small amount of betrayal.

 

Sam sighed. “I'm pretty sure they saved his life. If he would have stayed, Dad would have killed him.”

 

“He didn't try to come back?”

 

“Not that I know of. Bobby wouldn't tell me much, but he had to stop Rufus from full-out attacking Dad. Needless to say, they _really_ don't like you being locked up. No one does.”

 

“Did Dad say anything about that?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Yeah, he did.” Sam winced and scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes for a moment. “He made an announcement, actually. Pretty much said that anyone who interacted with you or tried to free you would be exiled right along with Cas. I don't think I've ever seen him so serious. It didn't go over well; a rumor of whispering going around for a new Head Hunter election has kinda been the norm.”

 

Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Well, fuck. There hasn't been a reelection for a new Head Hunter in, god, decades? What's he thinking?”

 

“He isn't, from what I can tell. He's pretty much been shut up in the hut ever since you got locked away. He has people come feed you, mostly the younger ones in training, ones you aren't close with. He hasn't gone out into the community at all.”

 

“Where is he now?”

 

Sam smirked. “There was an, uh, emergency in the kitchens. He was needed.”

 

“Wouldn't have anything to do with you, would it?” Dean said, a grin stretching across his face.

 

“Funny, Dad asked me the same thing. It was more Ellen and Jo than me, but what can you do?”

 

Dean let loose a surprised laugh. The fact that Ellen was stirring the pot surprised him. She was good friends with his mom and had supported his father through the years. But she clearly knew who she was siding with here. She hadn't particularly liked Castiel, but she'd stuffed him full of her food just to hear him talk about how amazing it was. And when he made Dean laugh, she'd gotten a soft look in her eyes, a look that Dean associated with his mom.

 

Jo wasn't as big of a surprise. She had really come around after Charlie pushed her to. After that, her and Castiel had gotten along in the way two people did when they really liked debating and bickering. If it wasn't for the fact that she was gay and had a love for Charlie seen from space, he'd think she had a little bit of a crush on Castiel.

 

The fact that people were gossiping about a possible reelection spoke volumes. The community respected his father, no doubt, but Castiel hadn't been wrong when he'd said John ruled with fear. A lot of people disagreed with some of the things he did, but they kept their mouths shut, too scared to speak up.

 

But for Dean? They apparently couldn't keep that too quiet, and that warmed Dean to his core.

 

“So,” Dean said quietly, smile waning, “you're my birthday gift?”

 

Sam sighed, lips twitching. “Not in the least, though I think I'd make a great birthday gift, thank you very much,” he teased.

 

Honestly, he had no idea just how fucking _ecstatic_ Dean was to see him. It made his birthday infinitely better, not that he would tell him that.

 

“Only way it's getting any better is if you brought pie,” Dean told him seriously. _Or Castiel,_ he tacked on within the confines of his head.

 

“I'll do you one better,” Sam said with the air of a man very pleased with himself. He took a step back and reached for the doorknob without looking, pulling it open.

 

Dean stared. “Sam?”

 

“Go on,” Sam said softly, smiling slightly.

 

“Sammy, I can't—”

 

“When are you doing to stop doing every single thing Dad tells you to? The _only_ time you don't listen to him is when it comes to Cas. For once, do what's right for _you,_ regardless of Dad's orders.”

 

That wasn't exactly true. He'd blatantly ignored his father's orders plenty of times when it came to Sam. Dean couldn't even count the amount of times that his father told him to stop letting Sam read all the recorded history of the Hunters and just _train_ him instead, or the times his father told him to start taking him on runs and workouts before he had even hit puberty. Dean hadn't listened, refused to, because Sam deserved better than what he'd gotten from his father, and he made sure he'd _never_ have to feel the way Dean did most of the time.

 

His father never spoke of it, but his resentment towards Sam trying to make _Dean_ proud, listening to _Dean,_ looking up to _Dean…_ well, it was obvious.

 

But in a way, Sam was entirely right. For Sam, for Castiel, he'd fought with his father. But he'd _never_ fought for himself. If he was honest, it was because he could still feel the ghost of his father's hand upon his cheek—a hit that never landed, but a statement all the same—and would never forget the disappointment in his eyes.

 

When it came to himself, all Dean had ever wanted to do was make his father proud.

 

Swallowing, Dean whispered, “I'm not sure if I can.”

 

“You can, I know you can,” Sam insisted carefully. “I know you don't realize it, but Dad does love you. He may be a shitty father, but he loves us both. We just have to… be okay with ourselves, whether he is or not. He won't do it right, but he'll love us through it.”

 

That hurt, far more than Dean could express with bleary eyes and a clogged throat. He felt it in his chest, felt the need for validation aching within him. But Sam hadn't ever looked so sure of something before, and Dean was too desperate to see it that way to choose not to believe him.

 

Dean coughed, taking a deep breath. “And what about you? He said—”

 

“Dad won't do anything to me besides yell and be an asshole. Even if he knows it was me, he won't be able to prove it.” Sam gave a careless shrug and another rebellious smile. “Besides, I'm not scared to do what I want. Are you?”

 

When Dean was ten years old, he would have denied the truth, but there was strength in admitting weakness, he'd learned. “I'm fucking terrified, Sam,” he said, looking down at his boots, still ashamed despite knowing he shouldn't be.

 

Sam took a measured step forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. When Dean looked up, he smiled and said, “Do it anyway.”

 

Dean gave a nod and started towards the door, lightly punching Sam's arm in thanks. He stopped just before crossing the threshold, a thought suddenly occurring to him. Whirling around, he pinned a serious look on Sam.

 

“You dreamed this,” he said quietly. “What I'm about to do, you dreamed it.”

 

Sam's lips twitched and he reached up, lightly scratching his eyebrow, expression giving him away immediately. “Well, not in the way you think, but yeah. When I told you it was good, I wasn't lying. It's just taking a little while to get there. So, get there.”

 

Dean made a face, clearly annoyed. “Does he—is it… the same for him?”

 

“I dunno.” Sam shrugged, eyes lit up with laughter and the teasing from a younger brother. “I mean, I can make an educated guess, but…”

 

“Right.” Dean rolled his eyes, sighing. “Do you know where he is, at least?”

 

“You know that's—”

 

“—not how the dreams work, I know, I know.”

 

Sam smiled again, soft and fond. “I'm not going to tell you everything is going to be okay, because I don't know for sure. The dreams _really_ don't work like that. But… I think we don't need the dreams to know that love will find a way.”

 

“Thanks, Sammy.”

 

With that, Dean turned around and took his freedom, doing something for himself for the very first time in his life.

  


 

 

 

  


Bobby and Rufus caught him just on the edge of the perimeter, close to the dip that would lead him to the least trouble in crossing the ravine.

 

“And just where do you think you're going, boy?”

 

Dean froze where he was, heart pounding in his chest. He knew he could outrun them, if he had to, and he was also aware they wouldn't gun him down if he ran. But they were like his dads, in all the ways his father hadn't been. He didn't want to run from them, didn't want to feel betrayed by them.

 

So, he slowly turned around and faced them, tilting his chin up, and announced, “I'm going to Cas.”

 

Rufus snorted. “No, you're not.”

 

Dean balked. “What? Yes I—”

 

“Shut up, boy, he's right. Cas ain't over there,” Bobby cut him off, rolling his eyes.

 

“What?” Dean's back snapped straight. “Where is he? What did you—”

 

“He didn't know where to go, couldn't go home, said something about being a traitor,” Rufus interrupted, waving a hand and wrinkling his nose.

 

Bobby hummed in agreement. “So, we sent him to the one place he'd be safe on the island.”

 

“Oh,” Dean croaked, blinking rapidly. “You—you kept him safe.”

 

“Of course we did,” Rufus replied, as if he hadn't thought of doing anything else.

 

“That's all we got for you, son,” Bobby said, nodding his head, his lips twitching under his mustache. “You take it from here, and Dean… be careful.”

 

Dean almost couldn't get the words out. “Thank you, both of you,” he managed, chest pinching.

 

They both turned and linked their fingers together, walking away without another word. Dean watched them walk away, hands swinging between them, and he wondered if he'd ever see them again. But he thought about it for a moment, and he realized that out of everyone, they understood him the most.

 

Smiling, Dean turned and walked in the opposite direction, new destination in sight.

  


 

 

 

 

  


No one went to the caves, but everyone knew of them.

 

Before the Hunters and Angels ever separated, back when they were more primitive than anything, they all lived within the caves. The rest of the island had been overrun with forest where the monsters stayed. Before they'd thought to cut down the trees, make up a language and inhabit different parts of the island, they lived amongst the caves.

 

Dean wasn't sure how they survived. There wasn't a resource in sight, and the caves were bare and cold. It was dark, in a different way than the rainforest; barren and empty, it was claimed by no one.

 

This was the only place where Castiel could come without being hunted and killed.

 

Unfortunately for Dean, there were gaping mouths of caves for miles, arching up into a cliff. On the other side of that cliff, the ocean lapped at the bottom, and if he fell, the impact would kill him before he'd drown. Leading up to the cliff, there had to be at least twenty or thirty caves for him to search for Castiel.

 

Sighing, Dean started with the first one on the right.

 

He started losing hope around cave six. Going back and forth, searching each cave, and finding them all devoid of Castiel was starting to get to him. Maybe Castiel had left, or just flew away from the Island altogether, sailing across the ocean to look for land that would offer something besides death.

 

Still, he was going to search every cave with precision, just in case.

 

He stopped counting, every cave jacking the number up making him feel worse. Every time he exited a cave that didn't house Castiel, he had to remind himself not to give up. If he _was_ here, Dean didn't want to miss him.

 

Every single cave was empty.

 

When Dean stepped out of the last cave, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to tell himself that it would be okay, that he could just go home, accept his fate and move on.

 

But the truth was… Dean was stupidly in love with Castiel.

 

It was _exactly_ what he'd sworn not to do, but he'd went and done it anyway. It was more than just being attracted to Castiel; it was that Castiel was his best friend, that he was Dean's favorite person—outside of Sam—and he couldn't be replaced. He hadn't wanted to, but he hadn't exactly stopped it from happening either.

 

Dean had been fascinated by it, by loving him like _that._ They defied all odds, careless of the rule book they'd been given since birth. And Dean had fallen head over feet without ever wanting to get back up.

 

Dean loved him, couldn't help it. Castiel was… great. He was funny, and kind, and strange, and Dean never felt anything but peace with him. He just made Dean happy; it didn't matter that they shouldn't have worked, that no one would approve, that they should have been, by all means, against each other. It was simple. Castiel was it for Dean, and he wasn't going to let anyone change his mind, even if they could.

 

Dean's, admittedly, sappy thoughts came to a screeching halt at the sound of wings fluttering.

 

He almost didn't want to open his eyes, the mere chance that it _wasn't_ Castiel worrying him. But if it was… god, if it _was._ Dean bit the bullet and snapped his eyes open, all his breath leaving him in one gust of air.

 

It was.

 

Castiel stood a few paces away, wings drawn to his back like they did when he was cautious or wary. His ridiculously big blue eyes were wider than they'd ever been, drinking him in without shame. His mouth dangled open, like he was sure he was supposed to be saying something but couldn't get the words to come out.

 

Dean had thought he missed him _before,_ but the feeling of nearly overtook him then. Just seeing Castiel suddenly wasn't enough. So, he let his feet carry him over, hands reaching out without permission to cradle his cheeks.

 

And yeah, it was cheesy and cliche, but Dean didn't give a fuck. It was just him and Castiel there, and this wasn't just about attraction and desire; it was about that and everything that had been sitting between them since Castiel had saved him from that fire. He ignored every single thing blaring at him just how _soft_ this was and stole a kiss.

 

It was a simple press of mouths, just to get his point across. Though he doubted it, he kept it short and sweet in case Castiel wasn't on the same page.

 

When he pulled back, Castiel's eyes were still closed, lips still slightly puckered. Dean watched his eyes flutter, taking in just how utterly striking the blue was. They stared at each other for a moment, immobile, searching each other's gaze. Slowly, carefully, they adjusted to the new perimeters of their relationship.

 

Then, Castiel surged forward with a happy grunt, hands crawling into Dean's short hair. And he was _definitely_ on the same page.

 

Their second kiss was much more passionate and heated. Dean was pretty much aware of two things as his mind clouded; one, his hands really liked the soft skin of Castiel's back, and two, his mouth was getting thoroughly plundered by a very enthusiastic Angel, who seemed hellbent on figuring out all the ways to draw a gasp from him.

 

Dean was very okay with both of those things.

 

Castiel abruptly pulled away, eyes bright, chest heaving. Dean was going to apologize, because he wasn't sure if his actions were appropriate so soon. Before he could even say a word, Castiel pressed a hand to his chest and walked him back to the right side of the opening to the cave, pushing him against the cold stone.

 

“Cas,” he murmured, licking his lips.

 

“Dean,” Castiel rumbled triumphantly.

 

The third kiss pinned him to the stone wall, his lips spreading without much thought. Cas pressed close to him, but it was gentle. Dean's body felt coaxed into Castiel's, his trembling hands landing on Castiel's scruffy cheeks, back arching as if to try and get as close as possible. The beauty of it was that Castiel was crowding closer, his fingers dragging down his neck in a soft caress.

 

It didn't make sense, but Dean had learned that most important shit in life rarely did. A part of him wanted to sink into this moment and never leave, just hold onto Castiel and never have to let go. Everything was so important and fragile right now, tremulous even. It was the star-crossed lovers bullshit that Dean mocked Sam for enjoying reading so much, and he didn't give one fuck.

 

Castiel sighed softly against his lips, turning the kiss into something deep and intense, yet soft. His tongue carefully slid out, the tip lightly tracing the opening of Dean's mouth, as if he wanted to savor every part. Dean was helpless to stop him, and mindlessly, he dropped his hands from Castiel's cheeks to reach back and lightly pet at his wings.

 

Castiel sagged against him immediately, his wings fluttering under his fingers eagerly. Dean indulged him, lightly pressing his fingers into the feathers and massaging at the strange texture of muscle underneath.

 

The kiss ended without much fanfare, just the desire to stay close and continue touching taking over. Castiel kept right on running his fingers over the skin of his neck and cheeks, and Dean kept right on caressing Castiel's wings.

 

The intimate moment spread thick and wide around them, enclosing them in silence and contentment. Dean pulled back to stare into those blue eyes, vaguely wondering why he'd _ever_ thought he wouldn't fall for them. Castiel smiled slightly, lips curling up sweetly.

 

“I found you,” Dean murmured.

 

Castiel hummed. “You did.”

 

“You have no idea how glad I am that I managed to track you down.”

 

“As thankful as I am that you did, I'm sure. But you are safe here now.”

 

“As much I would love to be—and it's a lot—I would much prefer to be safe at home,” Dean told him softly, smile slowly dwindling.

 

Castiel's face fell, wings drawing closer to his back. He took a few steps back, removing himself from Dean's space and evaporating their contact. Dean wanted to comfort him, wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay. But the truth was… he _couldn't._ He had no idea what would come of going back, but he knew they needed to.

 

“I am not allowed to return,” Castiel murmured, lips twisting bitterly as his eyes averted to the side in shame. “I'm not even welcome in my own home.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and reached out to grab Castiel's hand, pleased when their fingers slotted together perfectly. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“Your father took me away to threaten me; I was aware he was goading me into my own death. I did not reply to him, or make a move that could be misinterpreted. I thought, foolishly, that my inaction would prove that I meant him no harm.”

 

“Where did it go wrong, Cas?”

 

“Your father's ire began to rise, and I tried to tell him I simply wanted to return back to you. Before I could truly say anything, my mother and siblings showed up with many of my people.”

 

“Dad said that… your mother congratulated you. Was he lying?”

 

There was a pause, and Castiel's eyes slipped closed. He looked pained, face sorrowful and drawn. Slowly, his wings drooped, and Dean knew.

 

Dean dropped Castiel's hand as if it scalded him.

 

Castiel's eyes opened, sad and watery, and he whispered, “Dean, I am so sorry. I never—”

 

“No,” Dean choked out, taking a few stumbling steps to the side, heart throbbing in his chest, “tell me you didn't, Cas. Tell me that my dad was wrong about you. I swear to fucking god, if—if you did _this,_ I—”

 

“Dean, please, just _listen_ to me,” Castiel pleaded, looking as if he wanted to reach out. “My mother raised me to follow one mission, a mission she assigned me when I was only eleven years old. I grew up hating Hunters, training to infiltrate your land and strike where it would hurt the most; your father. But that isn't what—”

 

“Oh god, no no no, _no,_ fuck,” Dean chanted, breath shuddering out of him as pure fucking hurt and betrayal and _reality_ slapped him hard enough to give him whiplash. “You used me, you fucking _used_ me, Cas. He was right—fuck, he was _right!”_

 

Castiel made a small sound of distress. “No, I—I _didn't._ At first, yes… it was about the mission. I was to use my link to you to get to your father, but Dean, that changed. I swear it changed.”

 

“The fire, in the cabin on my first hunt,” Dean muttered, eyes widening with realization. “You did that, you put me in the position to be killed _just_ so you could save me.”

 

“I did not; my siblings did. But it was planned, yes.”

 

Dean reached up and dug his fingers into his scalp, breathing becoming harder as things came into sharp focus. Fuck, how could he be so _stupid?_ His father was right, he'd been right all along, and Dean hadn't fucking listened to him.

 

Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

 

“I should kill you.”

 

Castiel looked as if he'd been slapped, flinching at Dean's cold words. “If that is what you desire, I will make no move to stop you. But please, Dean, allow me to explain. Just give me that.”

 

“You're gonna tell me every single fucking thing you did, what happened with my dad, and then I'm gonna fucking kick your ass,” Dean snapped, jabbing a shaking finger at him.

 

“I was not supposed to stay with the Hunters as long as I did. Your father was supposed to be dead mere weeks after my arrival. But I… couldn't. Make no mistake, I have no care for your father; he is a horrible man. But you… Dean, you mean more to me than everything I have ever stood for. I was happy with you and had no desire to continue the mission my mother pressed upon me.”

 

“So, what, you were just gonna be the one Angel among the Hunters forever? You assumed nothing would go wrong? Why the _fuck_ didn't you tell me, Cas? I'm—I _was_ your best friend; we could have fixed it!”

 

“Dean, it wasn't broken!” Castiel retorted harsly, jaw ticking in anger. “You don't understand; you may never be able to. I have never had true joy until I was with you. It may have been selfish, but I wasn't willing to risk it. You forget, my head was practically on a stake the moment I followed you home. Nothing would have went wrong if your _father_ hadn't—”

 

“Don't you _dare_ talk about my father!” Dean exploded, hands jerking out in anger. “You don't get to say one fucking word against him, because he was _right._ You did every single thing he said you would, and I was the fucking idiot who wouldn't listen.”

 

“Stop talking about yourself like that,” Castiel growled. “Don't you get it, Dean? He has groomed you to see yourself as he sees you. But you are more, you are _better._ You were never wrong, never. Everything I did, all of it, was for you. I betrayed my own people for you!”

 

Dean threw his hands up and gave a bitter chuckle, chest heaving. “I didn't fucking ask you to!”

 

“What choice did I have, Dean? Do you have _any_ idea what it was like for me? Think, for just a moment, how it must have felt for me. Your people hunted mine and cut us down for _years._ I had one chance, _one,_ to save my people from it, and I fell in love with you instead.” Castiel sucked in a deep breath, wings flapping in agitation behind him. “You do _not_ get to tell me your father was right about me, not when he was wrong in every conceivable way.”

 

“You don't get to say that,” Dean croaked, eyes stinging as he brushed a hand over his mouth and looked away. “You can't tell me that, not right now.”

 

Castiel's eyes were bright and blazing. “Why not?” he asked harshly. “I speak only the truth.”

 

“Because I'm _hurt!_ You hurt me, Cas, can't you see that? Everyone told me not to trust you, that you would betray us, that you had bad intentions. But Cas, even from the beginning, I _trusted_ you.” Dean swallowed and dropped his arms to his side limply, all the fight leaving him. “I trusted you, Cas.”

 

Dean paced away from the wall, slipping past Castiel. He ran a hand over his mouth and looked to the dank ceiling of the cave. He felt like a fucking idiot, like he deserved every single his father had said or done, or wanted to say or do.

 

“I wanted to tell you,” Castiel murmured weakly, anger falling away. “There were times that I almost did. I wanted to tell you _everything,_ but I worried you would hate me.”

 

“It's real fucking hard to hate someone you love, Cas.” Dean gave a feeble shrug, turning around to find Castiel staring at him with too blue eyes full of sadness and guilt. “Trust me, I'm trying.”

 

Castiel swallowed, throat working. He took a cautious step forward. “When my people arrived, I tried to save your father. Not for him, not for me, but for you. Because, for a reason I cannot fathom, you love him. I tried to yell for my family to _stop,_ but your father… he killed Anna. He killed her, and I—I couldn't do anything.”

 

Dean felt defeated and betrayed, but the grief on Castiel's face took priority for a moment. Carefully, he said, “I'm sorry about Anna; I know you loved her. Dad shouldn't have—it was wrong, and I _am_ sorry.”

 

“I'd never seen my mother so distraught with fury. I had always thought her incapable of loving her children, but she—she was in agony. It may have been because your father had taken yet another thing from her, I'm not sure, but it was a horrific moment.” Castiel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “After your father fled, my mother turned on me. She said I was no better than your father, that I was a failure. She would have killed me in that moment, given half the chance, and so I flew away. I rested in parts of the rainforest for a bit, then attempted to return to you. And you know the rest.”

 

Just like that, wrapped up in a little bow.

 

Dean knew the rest, and now, he knew all the parts that he hadn't stopped to consider. Things shifted into place, making devastating sense in his mind. He wished that none of it was true, that he hadn't ever laid his lips on Castiel's, that he still didn't fucking love him. Most of all, he wished that he didn't understand why everything happened.

 

But he knew, if roles were reversed, his story would have went much like Castiel's had. They were two sides of the same coin, and it was hard not to slip into his mindset and follow along.

 

But that didn't make it okay.

 

So, Dean walked right up to Castiel and made to slap him. It did not connect.

 

He'd learned from training that the difference between a slap and a punch was emotion. When he punched someone, it was aggression and tactical thinking. Slapping someone was about passion and lack of control on his thoughts. Dean hadn't even made the decision to strike Castiel in this way, but the motion was telling.

 

Dean had been slapped before by Nina after he'd suggested a threesome with her best friend; the sting was more of a statement than any lingering pain could have been. And his father had made to slap him one time, after he'd met Castiel the very first time, but it hadn't ever connected.

 

His hand hovered just before Castiel's cheek, his palm nearly resting against skin. He'd stopped all the force so abruptly that he was a little stunned. But he couldn't do it, couldn't hurt Castiel, couldn't even _want_ to like his father had wanted to slap him.

 

The glaring difference between his father and him was that John had to actively force his hand away, but Dean couldn't have forced his hand to follow through with the hit, even if he wanted to.

 

Dean let his hand do what it wanted to, let the fingers softly cradle the cheek, let his grip slowly guide Castiel forward. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Castiel's, breathing slowly, trying to make sense of everything in his mind.

 

Dean had to make a choice; not for Sam, not for his dad, not for anyone. He had to make a choice on his own, for _himself._ And he knew that it would affect everyone else, but it couldn't be about them.

 

And if that made him a fucking idiot, so be it. He'd defied everything already anyway; why try and fight it now? Hell, he didn't _want to._ Deep down, he just wanted peace and structure, wanted to be okay without living up to the standards outside his own head.

 

Castiel made his choice, for himself, at the expense of his own people. He was strong, brave, and he had chose Dean, despite all the odds. And it wasn't right what he did, but his intentions had been based from pure love, and Dean _knew_ it.

 

Dean was angry and hurt, his heart felt heavy as the crashing tides, but it didn't matter. Despite _everything,_ he wanted to choose Castiel and the life that could come after.

 

So, he did.

 

“You didn't hit me,” Castiel whispered, lips so close to Dean's that he could taste the words on his tongue.

 

Dean swallowed. “I won't ever lay a hand on you, Cas. I don't want to. I want—fuck, I want to listen to you talk about bees and watch you play in the stream and see you fly so fucking magnificently. I want us to be okay, and I want our people to be okay. I just don't know if… we can.”

 

“We could just… stay here, together and safe. It would be hard and lonely, but we would have each other,” Castiel suggested softly.

 

Dean pulled back, dropping his hand. The hesitant look on Castiel's face made his stomach churn unpleasantly. He knew they weren't okay just yet, and Dean didn't know how to reassure him that they _would_ be.

 

But it was so early, so fresh, and they weren't even together yet. Telling someone you loved them amidst an argument wasn't the same as telling them in any other setting. It didn't make it less true, but the words were weaponized and processed differently. Dean was so, so very tired of holding himself back.

 

“I love you,” Dean said seriously, lips twitching when Castiel visibly perked up, “but more importantly… I _forgive_ you. And the most important thing, even more important than them both, I trust you.”

 

“I promise you, Dean, I will never—”

 

“Stop. I don't need you feeling guilty and making promises before we even reach a stage in our life where the promise would be tested. What I need from you right now is your support.”

 

Castiel's expression immediately hardened with determination. “You have it, in anything.”

 

“Good, because I need you to tell me what your mother's next move is.”

 

“Are you going to kill her?”

 

Dean blinked. “No.”

 

It hit him that Castiel might have the same exact mixed feelings about his mother that Dean did about his father. The absolute _wild_ thing about all of this was… their lives could have easily been flipped, and nothing would have changed. The hate was bred the same way, the war raged in the same direction, and the only difference between them was that one group had wings.

 

“If I know my mother, and I do, she is preparing to wage war on your father, and by extension, your people. She has probably prepared every single Angel to follow her, and she will stop at nothing to eradicate each and every Hunter there is.”

 

“When will she attack, Cas?”

 

Castiel took a deep breath. “At night. Possibly tonight. She knows your father is weak; she will exploit that.”

 

“We have to go back, you know that,” Dean whispered, reaching out to take his hand. “We can't let them destroy each other. I have Sam and so many others, including my dad. And you have Gabriel, and even your mom.”

 

“I know,” Castiel croaked, smile sad and small.

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“With everything.”

 

Dean leaned in for a kiss, and Castiel returned it. Their lips brushed sweetly, pressing and holding, just for a moment. When they pulled away in unison, neither felt any better.

 

The kiss felt like goodbye.


	6. Part Six

_I demolish my bridges behind me, then there is no choice but forward_

_-Fridtjof Nansen_

  


* * *

 

  


Dean was twenty-seven years old when he learned that some bridges needed to be torn down and built anew.

 

It was always going to be the bridge; deep down, Dean always knew that.

 

As he sailed through the air, eyes wide open, fresh air rushing past his face, Dean marveled at that fact. They'd gotten there in record time, considering that Castiel had scooped him up and launched them into the air. Flying was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and it left him feeling every pound of his weight, yet sure he was weightless, all at once.

 

They drew to a stop in the air over the rushing river. It was fast tonight, as if it sensed the brewing war on the bridge above it. Castiel hovered them in the air, wings flapping smoothly and quietly.

 

“Look,” Dean shouted over the rushing water, nodding to the scene on the bridge.

 

Castiel followed his gaze, and they both stared down at the unfolding events in trepidation.

 

On one side of the bridge, the Angels gathered together with Naomi in the front. They all stood in different feathered armor, looking like a unit of soldiers. And when Castiel said Naomi would gather _all_ the Angels, he hadn't been joking. There was two older women, wings a bit more wiry than the rest, and they stood with children around them.

 

The opposite side was no better. The Hunters gathered at the start of their side of the bridge, weapons drawn, threat obvious in their frames. Dean could see the kids still in training lingering behind the more seasoned Hunters, weapons also in their hands. He could make out the crown of Claire's head standing in the back with the other kids, all a bit younger than her.

 

It was like looking into a mirror.

 

“We need to get closer,” Castiel announced.

 

Dean simply nodded, heart thundering in his chest as his father and Naomi started approaching each other. Sam, Ellen, Bobby, and Rufus followed his father closely, while four other Angels shadowed Naomi. They hovered on the sidelines, unnoticed, as the two groups paused.

 

“John,” Naomi greeted with a sneer.

 

“Naomi,” Ellen hissed, tightening her grip on her shotgun and taking a step forward.

 

Naomi smirked at her. “Ellen.”

 

Bobby gestured to himself. “And I'm Bobby, that's my husband, Rufus,” he said, jerking his thumb at Rufus and holding his gun one-handed. “Now that introductions are out of the way, get the hell away from our side of the island!”

 

Naomi leaned forward, a long silver blade sliding into her palm. _“Your_ side? Ha, this land belongs to _us._ And we are here to take it back.”

 

“Give it your best shot,” John growled widening his stance, gun raising to aim at her skull.

 

“Cas, now,” Dean hissed.

 

They fluidly dropped towards the bridge, swirling through the air. It was smooth, but Dean's stomach still swooped, and when they landed safely to their feet, he had to force his fingers to let go of Castiel. He stepped out of Castiel's embrace and stood in front of his father, meeting his eyes. He could feel Castiel at his back, doing the same to his mother.

 

“Dean!” Sam yelped, face blooming in joy.

 

“Move,” John barked.

 

Dean planted his feet and said, “No.”

 

“Castiel,” Naomi crooned with a sinister sweetness that Dean felt to his core, “you came home. It's time you join us, son. This ends here.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel agreed blandly, and Dean's heart thundered in his chest. “This ends now, mother, but it will not end in bloodshed. Stop this.”

 

“You _dare_ to defy me, defy your heritage!” Naomi screeched. “Zachariah—”

 

“—was not my father,” Castiel cut her off sharply. “He was a _horrible_ Angel, who caused a needless war. Mother, listen to me, you need to let his values go. He was wrong; we all were.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and held his hands out towards his father placatingly. “He's right, Dad. I know—god, I _know_ —you miss Mom, and I hate that she died at their hands, but we have to move on now. We cannot continue to fight each other like this; everyone we love will die.”

 

John's whole body trembled. “Don't you _dare_ speak of your mother. The choices you make have made it very clear that you're no son of hers, or mine. You want to side with _them,_ fine; you will die right alongside them then.”

 

“You can disown me, but you will _not_ take my mother from me.” Dean dropped his hands to his side, balling them into fists. “I am _done_ with you treating me like I am nothing. I'm sorry I asked you to stay instead of Mom when I was four fucking years old. Don't you think I haven't regretted that mistake every single day that you talked down on me, that you wouldn't even _try_ to be a father, that you couldn't even pretend to be proud of me? Trust me, if I could go back, it would have been _you_ who didn't come home, not Mom.”

 

John blinked rapidly, mouth parting in surprise, visibly stung by Dean's words. “I did everything I could with you, Dean, with both of you. All I ever wanted was to protect you. I haven't been the same since your mom, and we all know that, but I've never meant to—”

 

“Bullshit,” Dean snapped, cutting him off. “You're stuck in your ways, too fucking hurt to consider change, and have no clue how to be a goddamn father to your children. We _know_ you love us, but that's about all we know. Wanna know the crazy part? We can't help but love you too, with every single thing we have. You’re my dad, and I'm _always_ going to love you, but I'm done being your good little soldier.”

 

“And so you'd damn your own people to protect them?” John jabbed a hand at the silent, watchful Angels behind him.

 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “No, _you_ would damn your own people to kill them. Don't you get it? You're not a leader; you're a man out for vengeance for someone who wouldn't even _want_ it. Mom would be disgusted by the things you've done.”

 

“But they—”

 

Sam suddenly stepped forward, touching John's shoulder, drawing his attention. “They? Them? Dad, look at _them,”_ he murmured softly, nodding towards all the Angels and the small children with tiny wings and wide, fearful eyes. “They _are_ us.”

 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, flicking his gaze over what all of the Hunters were looking at. Naomi looked as if she was eating something sour, but the rest of the Angels were watching the Hunters in curiosity. A man a bit younger than Castiel with mischievous brown eyes and light hair had lowered his blade and was staring right at Sam like he'd never seen something so amazing.

 

Dean was pretty sure it was Gabriel.

 

Slowly, he turned back to his father. John was gazing around at the Angels, eyes bouncing between the children in the back. Dean waited for him to stare at Sam for a moment, jaw setting, then he turned to stare at Dean.

 

“I can't,” John said, shaking his head. “I just _can't.”_

 

Dean nodded. “Okay,” he murmured, and Castiel sucked in a sharp breath behind him. “So don't. I'm thinking it's time for a reelection, aren't you?”

 

“You don't think I can lead my people right? I've done _everything_ for this community,” John spat, eyes fierce with rising anger.

 

“And you did fine, but it's over now. You know how this goes.” Dean swallowed and took a deep breath, focusing his attention on the surrounding Hunters. “All in favor for reelection, raise your hand.”

 

John whirled around, facing his own people. After a beat, a few hands went up, and then more over time. Bobby and Rufus stared right at John as their hands raised, but Ellen looked to the ground. One by one, every Hunter raised their hands.

 

“So, you're going to fight me for it, huh?” John chuckled sardonically and turned to face Dean, lips twisting bitterly.

 

Dean shook his head. “No, I'm not. You're going to give it to me. Dad, you _can't,_ and—and that's okay right now. But you're going to step down, and you're going to give it to someone who _can.”_

 

There was a long pause, and it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath, even the Angels. John looked on the brink of fighting, whole body tense, eyes bright with some emotion Dean couldn't name. Then, he relaxed and set his jaw, standing up tall and holding his head high.

 

For the briefest moment, for just a blip, Dean saw his eyes flash with something he'd been seeking out for _years._ It was there and gone in a second, but Dean was nearly breathless with it.

 

John was proud.

 

Dean could have laughed, because it didn't even _matter._ His father being proud of him changed nothing. All he'd ever wanted, and he got it, but Dean was already proud of himself, and that was all he needed. He was pleased to see it, sure, but he would have been fine without it.

 

“You think you can do better?” John asked softly, pocketing his gun and taking a step back. “Then, by all means, prove me wrong.”

 

Dean smirked. “Watch it, I've gotten pretty good at that lately.”

 

John hummed, frowning. “Just so you know, I do not agree with this whatsoever. Whatever you think is gonna change, it won't.”

 

“We'll see,” Dean replied seriously, turning on his heel to face Castiel's back. He lightly ran his hand down the width between his wings, delighted at the shudder than ran through him. _Not the time, Dean, not the time,_ he chided himself. “Your turn.”

 

Castiel took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Right,” he said. “Mother—”

 

“Oh, please,” Naomi interrupted sharply, narrowing her eyes, clearly disgusted. “You may want to roll around in the dirt with the Hunters, but none of us have the same desire.”

 

“Stop it,” Castiel said firmly. “We are not better than them. In fact, you'd be stunned to realize just how alike our groups are. Just give it a chance.”

 

Naomi curled her lip. “I'd rather _die.”_

 

Castiel swept up an eyebrow, expression cold, and without remorse, he declared, “Then die.”

 

A murmur rushed through both groups, and Dean had to stifle a legitimate gasp. He could see Castiel's side profile, and his emotionless face didn't even twitch. He shuffled to the side, trying to stand at Castiel's side, wanting to offer support, but Castiel simply shadowed his steps, remaining in front of him. He was blocking Dean from Naomi.

 

That was their mistake.

 

“I won't be the one dying tonight,” Naomi announced and flung herself at John.

 

Dean didn't even stop to think; he shoved himself in front of his father with a shout. Naomi's blade glinted as it sailed through the air, and Dean felt his father try and yank him out of the way, but he was too late.

 

Castiel, however, was not.

 

It seemed as if it happened in a split second trapped in forever. Castiel caught her by her wings and yanked her roughly to the side, arm shooting out to catch her hand holding the blade. Without hesitation, he curled her wrist and drove the blade into her chest, holding her firm as she flailed in his grasp.

 

“Castiel,” she choked out, blood on her lips. Her eyes were wide, wings slowly drooping.

 

Castiel watched her sadly, remorse on his face as the life slowly drained from her. “I'm so sorry. Mom, I'm so sorry. I'm—I'm—”

 

Naomi reached one hand back to grasp at his cheek, fingers bloody as they left her wound. She gazed up at him glassy eyes and whispered, “If you cannot grasp the importance I've passed to you, I'll make you suffer instead.”

 

Dean really didn't think there was anything else she could do at that point, but he was severely wrong. She jerked forward with a pained grunt and kicked her leg out hard, the hit landing right in Dean's chest, sending him stumbling back. She slumped immediately after, eyes devoid of life, dragging Castiel down.

 

But no one cared about her, because they were all rushing towards him. Dean knew why, could feel gravity sucking him down over the side of the bridge. Sam's scream was the loudest, and John nearly toppled over the edge after him with how quickly he reached out to grab him. Dean fell with a shout of pure terror, knowing what was waiting for him at the bottom.

 

Castiel launched over the side after him, wings flapping wildly as he flattened his body out to rush down at him. Dean tried to reach out for him, sure that Castiel would catch him before the river could claim him.  

 

 

 

 

But Castiel didn't, and he was the last thing Dean saw before he landed into the rushing river, going under and being yanked farther down. Dean fought to reach the top, but was no match for the rapids. He never even got to come up for air. But he kept his hand raised to the surface, waiting for Castiel to grasp him and pull him out.

 

No hand ever came, and Dean blacked out waiting to be saved by his Angel.

 

  


 

 

  


Dean never talked to anyone about his fear of the river beneath the bridge. It went deeper than being scared of water, or drowning; it was the fear of being in the grasp of something he couldn't fight.

 

It didn't matter that he was not ten anymore; there was nothing he could do to beat the rush of water. Not being able to get in a deep breath of air had only heightened his senses, and he'd felt every yank of his limbs as the river slung him around like a ragdoll. The only direction that hadn't changed was down.

 

Dean had felt it when his head connected with rough rock, and he'd almost welcomed the pull of darkness. At least he wouldn't be awake when he died.

 

When Dean came to, he didn't feel like he was dead. In fact, he felt very much alive. Every single part of his body hurt, aching as if he'd been smacked over and over with a tree. And he couldn't breathe. He flailed for a moment, sure that he'd woken up in just enough time to actually die.

 

He only stopped fighting when he realized there were lips on his, pressing down hard and insistently. Dean immediately relaxed, just knowing it was Castiel; he was the only one who would kiss him anyway. If he was going to die, he was relieved to have Castiel's lips on his when he went.

 

A gust of air hit the back of his throat, and his lungs revolted. Acrid water crawled up his throat and he curled up, turning on his side to cough it up. He spit the water out, breathing in fresh air, and even _that_ hurt, but fuck, he was alive.

 

He forced his eyes open to look at Castiel, but froze when he was met with someone else entirely.

 

Gabriel's wings were a golden color, glinting in the moonlight, and his smile was so wide that it looked like it hurt. It took Dean an embarrassingly long time to realize that Castiel's little brother just kissed him back to life.

 

“What the fuck,” he croaked, wincing at the resonating pain in his throat.

 

Gabriel beamed at him. “I can't believe that worked! You sure got a will to live, huh?”

 

“Did you just fucking kiss me?” Dean sputtered, words weak and thin.

 

“Well, sort of. I tried to breathe for you. Whatever, it worked! Come on, we have to get you back home; they're gonna lose their _shit.”_

 

“What, who? What's going on?”

 

“You're dead on your feet, Dean-o. How about you get some rest before someone explains everything? Man, I can't _wait_ to tell Castiel I kissed his boyfriend. Might hurt my chances with Sam, but ya know,” Gabriel said conversationally, reaching down to haul him up, slinging Dean's arm over his shoulder.

 

Dean groaned. “Ow,” he hissed pitifully.

 

“Can you walk?”

 

“I feel like a flattened noodle.”

 

Gabriel chuckled. “Alright, well, you're probably not gonna like this, but…”

 

With that as his only warning, Gabriel swooped down and caught Dean under his knees, gathering him up in his arms as if Dean was some damsel. Dean couldn't do anything but groan and limply sway as Gabriel stumbled under his weight. Once he got his footing, he grinned cheekily down at Dean and flared his wings wide, giving one powerful beat of his wings, launching them into the air.

 

“You shouldn't be able to hold me,” Dean rasped.

 

“It's the wings,” Gabriel told him casually, pitching them higher and higher until they were soaring over the treetops. “Most of our strength are in our wings, if you haven't noticed.”

 

Dean groaned again, body hurting in a way it had never before. “Fucking Angels,” he grumbled.

 

Gabriel just chuckled. “Right you are.”

 

Dean really wanted to ask endless questions; he needed to know what happened, how long he'd been gone, where Sam and Castiel were, if the war continued. But it hurt to breathe, let alone talk, and his mind was growing foggy as the wind whipped past his face as they glided through the air. All he could do was sag into Gabriel's arms and try not to pass out.

 

He must have passed out anyway, because the next thing he knew, he was being jostled slightly as Gabriel touched the ground and chaos was erupting around him. There were so many voices, indiscernible in the unity and overlap, and all he could make out was the words.

 

“Oh god, is he—”

 

“He looks—”

 

“Where did you find him?”  

 

 _“How_ did you find him?”

 

“At least the funeral will have a body.”

 

“Don't you fucking talk about my son that way!”

 

“Dad, stop it. Dad! Stop—”

 

“Dean, oh Dean…”

 

Then, Gabriel whistled loud and sharp, bringing all voices to a quiet. He shifted Dean's weight and announced, “He's alive.”

 

Dean groaned to prove his point.

 

Sam's voice broke through. “Gabriel, thank you, thank you so much. Give him—let me—”

 

Hands hoisted Dean from his grasp, making another pitiful moan slip loose. He could feel his own head roll on his neck, loose and unstable. He could smell Sam's special lavender shampoo and his father's spicy aftershave, and his arms went over two pair of shoulders. He tried with all his might to lift his head and peel open his eyes.

 

All he saw before he blacked out, yet _again,_ was the burning pyre used in funerals and the intermix of people standing around, some with wings, some not.

  


 

  
  


 

Dean woke up to his father and brother talking in a low murmur, so he didn't open his eyes.

 

“—either way. It's up to him.”

 

John grunted softly. “You've been handling it well so far. Still think having the Angels here is a mistake.”

 

“Dad, no offense, but your opinion kinda doesn't count. Dean was right when he said it was time for change,” Sam replied.

 

“This is too much change.”

 

“If you can't look at it as something good for both communities, why not look at it tactical? Think about it; the Angels have the ability to fly, which could be good for obtaining resources. They clearly have knowledge on sustainable armor, as well as great ideas for what to do in the hard times. On top of that, there still are monsters out there; don't you think having the Angels on our side will help?”

 

John was silent. He gave another grunt, but it was more of a huff. “Wasn't too long ago, they _were_ monsters.”

 

“You know I'm right. Dean's right.” Sam heaved a quiet sigh. “Look, they never ate people, and they don't kill for sport. The _only_ difference between us and them is that they have wings.”

 

“I ain't gotta like it.”

 

“No, you don't. But they're not going anywhere, even if Dean does decide to take back over. So, what are you planning to do?”

 

“I already made my mind up about that. I'm gonna stay out in that old cabin in the woods, just for some space 'till I can keep my head on straight. Don't really have much a place here anymore.”

 

Dean nearly snapped his eyes open, then and there, but Sam's soft sigh of disappointment stopped him. It was beyond fucked up that their father was going to remove himself from his own community because he couldn't escape his own hate. In a way, Dean thought it fitting, but he mostly thought it was plain fucking _sad._

 

“It'll take some time, but you _will_ come around. Just—just make an effort, okay? Things are changing, but it's not a bad thing.”

 

“I think I got some other things to work on first. Probably should put effort with my kids before I start worrying about the Angels.”

 

Sam hummed in agreement. “That'd be a good place to start, I think.”

 

“Once a week, just once, I want—I'm asking for you boys to visit,” John muttered, so incredibly awkward and gruff that Dean almost laughed. “I ain't gonna promise nothin’ special, but I'm gonna… try.”

 

“I doubt that will be a problem. Knowing Dean, he'll forgive you for all your bullshit, whether you deserve it or not.”

 

“And you?”

 

“Little selfish asking that of me, don't you think?” Sam asked sharply, voice low but intense.

 

John cleared his throat. “Right, I—yeah, right.”

 

“But if you want the truth, I don't have much to forgive you for. Dean made sure of that. He did everything you wouldn't, everything you should have. You didn't fail me; Dean didn't let that happen.”

 

“I failed ya both, I know that. Mary… if she was here, nothing like this would have happened. She always made things better, you know?”

 

“You can't keep blaming Mom for your own fuckups. You made your choice, Dad; own them.” Sam didn't sound bitter, but his words were firm.

 

“I ain't never done it before, but I'll try.”

 

“Then, we'll let you. But uh, you should probably get used to Cas being around. He and Dean are joined at the… everything.”

 

John huffed again, displeased. “I can't _believe_ that he just… involved himself with a fuckin’ Angel.”

 

“That's _another_ thing. You have to start coming around to the fact that we're all one group now. We're not just Hunters; they're not just Angels. We're all a community now. And yes, that means some people are gonna fall for each other, no matter the previous group, and that's _okay._ It isn't hurting you, so why do you care?”

 

“I care because it's my son.”

 

“Dean can make his own decisions, and you have to let him. Can't you just be happy as long as he is?”

 

“Couldn't he just have… I dunno, stayed with Ash?”

 

“Dad, you didn't like him with Ash.”

 

“Compared to the Angel, I prefer Ash.”

 

Sam snorted in amusement. “Yeah, well Ash fell in love with his own creativity, and Dean fell for Cas. Get used to it.”

 

“He ain't gonna come with y'all when the visits start, right?” John asked in annoyance.

 

“Yeah, probably,” Sam replied, sounding like he was holding back laughter.

 

John sighed again, louder and heavier. “I suppose I will have to get used to it. Can't say I like the Angel, but he did try to save Dean. That's a point in his favor, I guess.”

 

“Live and let live, Dad. It's called respect; have some.”

 

“You sure got mouthy over the last few days.”

 

“Well, you're not exactly Head Hunter anymore, are you? Now you're just my dad; my dad who seriously needs some pushing in the right direction.”

 

John's reply was a grunt, a noise bordering on amusement. There was quiet for awhile, and Dean considered opening his eyes and letting them know he was awake. But he was warm and comfortable, and it was strangely nice to hear Sam and their dad banter like this. Sam hadn't ever held his tongue towards their dad, a fact that Dean had envied and feared in equal measure.

 

Just before he opened his eyes, Sam whispered, “What if he doesn't wake up?”

 

“He will.” John's swallow was thick in the silence. “He's Dean, he'll wake up. Besides, that weird Angel who's got eyes for you, what's his name—”

 

“Gabriel,” Sam supplied with a weak chuckle.

 

“Right, that one. He said Dean was in and out when he brought him back. He's probably tired. Spending a half a night getting chewed up and spit out by the rapids can do that to you.”

 

“I don't know what I'm supposed to say to him when he wakes up. What do I tell him about Cas? When do we work out the Head Hunter thing? Dad, I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do.”

 

John hummed quietly. “Ain't them dreams supposed to tell you?”

 

“You know about the dreams?”

 

“'Course I know about the dreams, Sam. I'm not the best father, but I ain't blind.”

 

“You never said anything.”

 

“Didn't know what to say. I didn't want to know too much. If it was… bad, I'd have to do something about it, so I didn't try and find out. Dean handled it.”

 

“Well, they're not bad… they just _are._ I've had them all my life. They don't really tell me anything and it's mostly left up to my interpretation, but I get these feelings from them, you know? There's really nothing special about them.”

 

“In that case, are you asking for my advice?”

 

Sam clicked his tongue. “There's a first for everything,” he muttered sarcastically.

 

“Watch your tone with me, boy. But to answer your question, much as I hate to say it, the thing with, uh, Cas is a bit more important, ain't it? You're leading just fine for now, deal with that later.”

 

“Sound advice.”

 

“You said it yourself, gotta make an effort somehow.”

 

A rattling cough suddenly crawled from the depths of Dean's chest, and his eyes snapped open as it broke from his throat. As he curled in on himself, coughing loudly, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. There was some genuine healing going on there, and he'd fucking interrupted it.

 

“Dean! Dean, here, drink this.”

 

A warm mug was pushed into his hands, and a sturdy arm lifted him up, holding him in case he fell back. Dean wrinkled his nose and drink the warm tea that Jody made for sore throats. She put some kind of mint in it, which Dean despised, but it helped soothe his throat and chest. Just for the relief he felt, he downed the whole thing, but he hadn't realized how dry his mouth was until his thirst had been quenched.

 

“Thanks,” he said, pleased that his voice had more strength.

 

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, perching on the bed in front of him.

 

Dean scooted back to support himself, ignoring his father's arm falling away from his back. “Like shit,” he told them honestly.

 

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Sam gave a smile, but it trembled on his face. “But it's good to see you awake.”

 

“You thought I was dead, before. I saw the pyre,” Dean mumbled, glancing between them. “You were throwing me a funeral.”

 

“Your Angel tried to save you, but the water took you under before he could. It was too fast and strong for him to find you, and we all waited for you to come up, but you never did.” John frowned at him, looking uncertain. “Not sure how you survived that.”

 

Dean grimaced. “Barely. Gabriel kissed me back to life, the fuckhead.”

 

Sam's lips twitched. “Yeah, he's been spouting off about that all day. He's telling everyone that he saved the prodigal son with a kiss.”

 

“I can imagine,” Dean said dryly. He chewed his lip for a moment, stomach tying into knots. From what he gathered from their conversation, he doubted he was going to like the answer to this. “Where's Cas?”

 

Sam shared a look with their dad.

 

John was the one to answer. “Probably at Naomi's grave. He spends most of his time there now. Seems a bit shifty to me, but… to each is their own, I guess.”

 

“Does he know I'm back?” Dean asked, rolling his eyes at his dad.

 

“Yeah,” Sam answered, averting his eyes. “I tried to get him to be here when you woke up, but he, uh, won't come around.”

 

Dean blinked. “What? Why? I don't understand.”

 

Sam scratched his eyebrow, still pointedly avoiding Dean's eyes. “Yeah, none of us really do. Even Dad told him to get in here. His exact words were, and I quote, _get the fuck in here, Angel,_ but he just kinda… flew off. So, I don't know…”

 

“I need to see him,” Dean muttered, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. “I'm gonna rip him a new one. Asshole.”

 

Sam stood up with a sigh. “Be gentle, he's… he's not handling anything well.”

 

Dean suddenly recalled the sight of Castiel's face as he took Naomi's life; the pain and guilt had been overwhelming, and the sight of tears clinging to the edges of his eyes had felt like a punch to his gut. Then, Dean had fallen, and Castiel had looked fucking torn apart when he didn't save him.

 

“Right.” He sighed and paused, looking between Sam and his dad. “So, Sam's in charge now, right?”

 

Sam's eyes went wide. “Your presumed death passed the role to me, but you weren't dead, so—”

 

“Do you like it?” Dean interrupted.

 

“Uh, what?”

 

“Do you like being Head Hunter?”

 

“I mean, yes?”

 

“You good at it?”

 

“Dad says I am.”

 

“Then, it's yours. Nobody will do better for these people than you, Sam. Maybe I can be an advisor or some shit, but I'm gonna be honest with you… I'd really rather just be a plain Hunter.”

 

John huffed pointedly. “You didn't say that when—”

 

“Yeah, well, you were a shitty leader, so someone had to step in,” Dean cut him off, jerking a stern gaze to his dad. “You were a shitty everything, but I got the feeling you'll be working on that. Am I right?”

 

“Yeah,” John muttered gruffly.

 

Dean quirked a smile, slightly amused. It was funny, in a way that was more sad than anything, that his dad was just now putting forth an effort. In truth, Dean wasn't sure he'd ever forgive him for the last twenty-seven years, but it wasn't about that. Sometimes, the relief you give yourself can bring others the same solace. Dean was done living his life for John Winchester, had been for awhile now, but that didn't mean he couldn't have him _in_ his life.

 

If his dad was gonna try, Dean was gonna let him.

 

The hug really wasn't for his dad, but he knew the man needed it. Dean gave him a tight squeeze, holding the hug for a moment, and he truly understood that forgiveness wasn't excusing someone, but putting himself first.

 

Clapping his dad's shoulder, he pulled away and smirked at the way his father smoothed down his clothes and acted as if he wasn't feeling anything. He turned to Sam then, sharing an amused grin, and they hugged a bit more enthusiastically.

 

Now, _this_ was for Sam, just as much as it was for Dean. Sam had thought he'd lost his brother, and the reassurance was obvious in his frame. It was nice and brought comfort, and Dean needed that like he needed to breathe.

 

“Go get him,” Sam mumbled when they seperated, teasing dancing in his eyes.

 

Dean hummed and started towards the door, shouting over his shoulder, “Cas will be joining us in visiting once a week, so like Sam said, get used to it.”

 

He laughed as he exited the hut and heard them both let out a curse of annoyance at Dean eavesdropping on their conversation.

 

It was daylight out, and Dean nearly tripped as he started towards the beach to head to the bridge. The sight before him made his mind boggle in confusion and disbelief for a moment.

 

All around, people were milling about, talking and laughing. The wild thing about it was that it was a mixture of Angels and Hunters.

 

Wings of all different colors draped across the sand, and Hunters in their worn clothes were scattered amongst them. The children were all playing together, and Dean watched Claire teach a young boy with brown hair, golden eyes, and white wings how to catch the ball Castiel had saved for her. Only a few feet away, another child was hovering wildly in the air while Kevin gaped at her in amazement. Ellen was showing a man with gaudy orange wings how she tied her shoes, and Gabriel was showing off his armor to an enthralled Charlie while Jo pretended she wasn't interested.

 

Dean had to stop and stare, blinking around in awe, because Sam was _right._ They really were a united group, even if they were stumbling through it; at least they were _trying._

 

“You don't close your mouth, you'll catch flies,” Bobby warned him, making Dean jolt.

 

He hadn't seen him and Rufus approach. “Hey, yeah, I'm just a little… surprised,” he said honestly.

 

Rufus snorted. “That's putting it mildly. It's taking a little getting used to, but we're making it work. _Sam's_ making it work.”

 

“That boy's got his head screwed on straight,” Bobby agreed, nodding in approval.

 

“Hey, either of you happen to see Cas, or know where Naomi was buried?” Dean asked as casually as possible.

 

Bobby tsked lightly and Rufus said, “He buried her on the other side of the bridge. Sam ain't letting anyone but John and himself cross just yet. Hunting has been postponed until we get all this shit figured out.”

 

Dean frowned. “What shit?”

 

“Where to put the Angels, if they'll be hunting, whether you or him will be Head Hunter. We're all kinda in limbo right now,” Bobby told him.

 

Rufus nodded. “All the Angel kids slept in the huts last night by those who volunteered. We kept that little one right there with Claire. His name's Jack. The adults just stayed out on the beach.”

 

“Right.” Dean let out a deep breath. “It's a lot to figure out. Got one thing out of the way, though. I'm gonna let Sam run the show; he's always been good at that. Level-headed, smart, kind. He'll do fine.”

 

Bobby grunted in approval. “It's just an adjustment. Some people are taking a little longer to come around, but they're getting there. Kinda hard to hate the Angels when a charmer like Gabriel exists.”

 

“Charmer?” Dean blurted, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Rufus confirmed with a rough chuckle. “That boy's been charming _everyone._ Well, except for Sam; that boy's immune, which kills Gabriel, who clearly is into him. Funny though, Eileen has eyes for Gabriel, which surprised the hell out of all of us.”

 

Dean's eyes widened. “Wait, doesn't Sam have a _thing_ for Eileen?”

 

“Mhm,” Bobby said, snorting. “He's been holding a candle to her for years. It's kinda funny, ain't it? Gabriel wants Sam, but Sam wants Eileen, but Eileen wants Gabriel.”

 

Dean stared at them. “You're both a bunch of gossiping old ladies.”

 

They both shrugged, shameless.

 

“Ain't got anything else better to do,” Rufus said, grinning mockingly. “Now, are you gonna go get Cas, or you gonna stand here like an idiot all day?”

 

“I'm going, I'm going,” Dean grumbled, already walking away while he rolled his eyes.

 

He marveled the community dynamic as he walked, staring around in blatant shock. He caught Donna walking with an Angel who could have easily been described as sex on a stick, all sauntering gate and playful smirks. _Balthazar,_ Dean recalled immediately, remembering how Castiel had described him. Jody was showing a confused looking Angel her collection of soaps, grabbing her arm and saying “Hannah, look at this” over and over, pulling out yet another soap.

 

He was still reeling when he broke through to the forest, heading to the bridge. It was weirdly quiet without any patrol, and Dean worried about that. Whether the Angels weren't the enemy anymore or not, they still had other monsters to keep an eye out for. He made a note to mention that to Sam on his way back in.

 

Once he reached the bridge, he came to a halt. Across the bridge, off to the right, Castiel was sitting on the ground in front of two sticks in the shape of an _X_ that were stabbed in the ground. His wings were drawn close to his back, head dropped low. Dean swallowed and started across the bridge and froze halfway.

 

His heart started racing in his chest, and he swallowed thickly as he looked at both sides of the bridge. He was a little pissed, even through his panic, that he was now terrified of this fucking bridge, on top of the goddamn river beneath it. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, thinking calm thoughts and easing into relaxation.

 

Carefully, he crossed the bridge.

 

“Cas,” he murmured, walking up behind him.

 

Castiel's head snapped up, and his wings spread wide, flapping and carrying him up and around. He stared at Dean in a mixture of surprise and profound joy, stumbling to his feet as his wings fluttered madly in what Dean knew to be delight.

 

“Dean,” Cas breathed, the name soft and reverent as it fell past his lips.

 

Dean smiled softly. “In the flesh. You okay?”

 

Immediately, Castiel's joy crumbled and he took a solid step back. “You did not have to come visit me. I understand if you do not wish to see me.”

 

“What?” Dean balked, alarmed.

 

“I know that—that I failed you, and I'm _sorry._ Dean, I'm so…” Castiel's voice hitched and his face grew blotchy as he stared resolutely at the ground. “I tried to save you, I—I—”

 

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Dean said with a soft firmness, moving forward to reach out and grip Castiel's arms.

 

Castiel slowly looked up. “I tried so _hard._ Dean, I couldn't save you.”

 

“Listen to me, what happened to me isn't your fault, okay? I _know_ you tried, but Cas, it's not your job to save me. We can try to help each other, that's okay, but if we can't… it's not our fault. You did everything you could; you have _nothing_ to apologize for. And look,” Dean told him, pulling his hands back and spreading his arms wide, “I'm _fine._ I'm going to be fine, and since I don't plan to get into any trouble anytime soon, we don't have anything to worry about. So… forgive yourself.”

 

“I thought you died,” Castiel croaked, blue eyes shimmering prettily as a sheen formed. His throat bobbed. “Dean, I thought—”

 

“Okay, okay,” Dean murmured gently, tugging Castiel into his arms.

 

That was it.

 

Castiel clung to him and just fucking _sobbed,_ and Dean was pretty sure his heart was in a million pieces. He pressed his lips to Castiel's hair, forehead, ear; anything he could get to, he kissed. His hands drifted of their own accord, petting skin and wings, trying to comfort in any way he could. But there was nothing for it. Castiel just held on and cried, letting out what he'd been holding onto.

 

Dean supported him through it.

 

When Castiel seemed all cried out, Dean continued to hold him. They stayed like that for a long time, just hugging each other. Then, Castiel gave a sniff and pulled away, using both hands to rub at his face, swiping away tears but doing nothing for the redness on his face.

 

“Thank you,” Castiel mumbled, voice rougher with his emotion.

 

Dean hummed, reaching out to interlink their fingers. “Anytime, Cas, anytime.”

 

They were quiet again, but it was peaceful; the kind of quiet that you find consolation in. Shuddering out a breath, Castiel threw a glance at his mother's grave, sadness creeping back up to his eyes.

 

“I should, by all means, hate her.”

 

“But you don't.”

 

Castiel looked at him guiltily and choked out, “No.”

 

“I should hate my father, but I don't. If you're expecting me to judge you, Cas, you've got another thing coming.”

 

“She tried to kill you.”

 

“She's still your mom.”

 

“I killed her.”

 

Dean ran his thumb over the back of Castiel's knuckles, sighing. “She's still your mom.”

 

“All I ever wanted from her was… acceptance and love. She was so cold, so cruel, and her hate consumed her,” Castiel murmured, staring at the grave with a hollow expression. “She was never kind, she used me to fuel a war I wanted no part of, and I grieve her anyway. She nearly took the man I love from me, and I love her _anyway._ What's wrong with me?”

 

“Nothing, Cas. There is _nothing_ wrong with you. She wasn't good to you, but that didn't stop you from wanting a mom. And she did horrible things, but that doesn't mean you couldn't love her anyway. Family is complicated, we both know that. You are allowed to mourn her, you're allowed to love her; she was your _mom,_ Cas. It's okay.”

 

And just like that, Castiel was crying again. His hand tightened on Dean's, and he ducked his head, covering his mouth as tears visibly fell from his eyes. Dean couldn't help it, he drew him right back into a hug, careless that he'd have a wet spot on his shirt.

 

“I hated her.”

 

Dean sighed sadly, running his fingers through Castiel's hair. “No, you didn't.”

 

Crying harder, Castiel whimpered, “I needed a mom, I _needed_ her, and she—she—”

 

“I know, I know, shh. It's okay to be angry, it's okay.”

 

“I loved her so much and I hate myself for it.”

 

Dean tutted softly, chest hurting with Castiel's grief and tangled emotions. “Don't. Don't hate yourself, it's okay. You feel however you want to; you're allowed. But don't hang onto it. Trust me, it's not worth it. You let it out, you move on, and you be happy. That's all you have to do, Cas, that's it.”

 

It wasn't, they both knew that, but it was comforting to hear all the same. Castiel would forever feel the loss of his mother and what might have been, and that would not go away, but living with it would become easier over time. Dean would be there every step of the way, just like Castiel would be there for him through his tremulous journey with his father.

 

“Will you come with me when I want to visit?” Castiel croaked, pulling away with tears still shining in his eyes. The sight made Dean's chest pinch; it was unfairly adorable and heartbreaking all at once.

 

“Anything you need,” Dean said, and he meant it. “Do you want to go home now?”

 

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, making one more tear fall. He released a long breath and sucked another one in, holding it for a moment. Then, he exhaled and opened his eyes, nodding slowly.

 

“Yes, Dean, let's go home.”

 

And so, hand in hand, they walked across the bridge.


	7. Epilogue

_ Every bridge is a journey _

_ -Me _

  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  


Dean was thirty years old when he learned that all bridges met in the middle.  

 

The clanking of dishes being passed around was loud in the quiet of the room. A fork hit the plate in front of Dean louder than necessary, and he winced. No one seemed to notice and continued to eat their food in glaring silence. 

 

Finally, Dean couldn't take it. 

 

“So, Dad,” he started, clearing his throat, “are you going to be at the celebration tomorrow?” 

 

John shot a look at Castiel. “Am I welcome?” 

 

Castiel smiled sweetly, too sweetly. “Can you refrain from acting like a child?” 

 

“You should mind your tongue when you speak to me,  _ Cas,”  _ John spat, slamming his fork down. 

 

Dean sighed. “I do so love these family dinners.” 

 

Sam snorted. “Tell me about it.” 

 

“Well, I think it would be a _great_ idea if—” 

 

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Everyone intoned in unison. 

 

Eileen and Sam shared a fond smile when Gabriel gasped and clutched his chest as if he'd been shot. The antics broke the tension, and even John cracked a reluctant smile. 

 

“I think you should come,” Dean said seriously, picking up his mug and motioning towards his dad before sipping his juice. “I mean, you've gotten better over these last three years. It's actually looking like you might move back soon.” 

 

“Into a different hut, preferably,” Sam said quickly, smiling when their dad shot him a flat look. 

 

“Ain't no way I'm moving back into the old hut. I don't know how the five of you coexist with each other as it is.” John wrinkled his nose, waving a hand when Gabriel opened his mouth. “I don't  _ want  _ to know either.” 

 

“It is getting a bit cramped,” Eileen murmured, side eyeing Dean pointedly. 

 

Dean stared at her flatly. “Can you  _ not  _ try and kick me out of my own home so openly,” he muttered, signing as spoke. “You guys just want more space to do your kinky threesome things.” 

 

John choked on his juice, coughing. “Goddammit, Dean,” he sputtered with a glare, “I said I didn't want to know!” 

 

“If I have to suffer, so do you,” Dean replied with a cheeky grin. 

 

Castiel cleared his throat. “Actually, you're usually louder than them when we—” 

 

“Cas, please,” John snapped, waving his hands around wildly. 

 

“I like your discomfort,” Castiel stated bluntly, not apologetic in the least. 

 

“I'll show you discomfort,” John grumbled. 

 

“Okay,  _ anyway,  _ are you coming?” Dean asked quickly, leaning forward on his elbows. 

 

“Ellen mentioned something about missing you,” Sam said with an innocent smile. 

 

John shifted in his seat. “Yes, well—” 

 

“Oh hoo, daddy Winchester wants some of  _ Ellen?  _ Boy, how did I miss that?” Gabriel crowed, leaning over to sign the news to Eileen, who blinked rapidly, most likely because Gabriel probably inserted some things that were not appropriate. 

 

Again, Dean went for damage control. “Dad, it would be nice for you to show up. Charlie is very excited and Jo always looked up to you. Come on.” 

 

In a rare moment, they all went quiet and pinned John with various degrees of looks, ranging from encouraging to expectant. Dean watched his dad teeter on the edge before crumbling, the fight leaving his shoulders with a sigh. 

 

“Fine, I'll be there. It  _ is  _ the first wedding we've had since Bobby and Rufus.” 

 

Dean beamed. “Great!” 

 

Almost immediately, things dissolved back into bickering and vague threats with no heat. Dean ate his food with a smile, amused. 

 

In the last three years, everything had changed. 

 

The Angels had integrated perfectly into the community under Sam's rightful guidance, and they'd flourished together. Hunting resumed, but it was in pairs of Angels and Hunters, which worked out surprisingly well. The patrol went back to the bridge, but Angels watched from the trees to see any danger lurking from farther away. That had come in handy when a large pack of vampires had gotten a wild hair up their ass and decided to try and attack. They'd failed, naturally, and the celebrations on the beach had lasted nearly two days. 

 

More huts had been built through the year, but some of the Angels preferred the treetops to them. After Sam had given them the idea to just build homes in the trees, the woods surrounding the huts had slowly started taking on treehouses. 

 

With more mouths to feed, they'd started an extra garden and hunted for food more frequently. Most of the Angels were really good at that, having the advantage of attacking from the sky, but not all. Dean had went on many a hunt with Balthazar and came back pissed that the man who walked like fluid couldn't even take a damn deer down properly. 

 

Relationships hadn't changed as much as Dean would have expected. Honestly, most of the Angels were downright  _ hot,  _ especially in their feather armor. But outside of him, Sam, and Ash, no one had jumped on that bandwagon. There had been the crisis where Sam had no fucking clue what to do about wanting Gabriel  _ and  _ Eileen, and it had been Castiel who had suggested  _ both  _ like that solved the issue. In the end, he'd been right. 

 

And Ash… well, he'd somehow gathered Gadreel's attention, and oddly enough, Ash had reciprocated. It had to be one of the weirdest fucking things Dean had ever seen, because they didn't seem as if they'd work. Gadreel was quiet and reserved, spoke seriously and didn't really show much personality. Ash was basically the exact opposite of that, but they'd bonded over his art. And that was all she wrote. 

 

Of course, not  _ everything  _ was perfect. Dean's dad still had his reservations about the Angels, but he was slowly getting better. Well, he was getting to a point that he could tolerate them without busting a blood vessel. He'd carefully started spending more and more time in the community, splitting his time with his sons, Ellen, and Bobby and Rufus. They usually had Angels with them, so he'd been outnumbered and had to get over his bullshit. 

 

Another thing was that the monsters had noticed the sudden change. They'd come out the depths of the forest and shown themselves more and more. Hunting was more of a requirement these days than something to do. 

 

And Castiel. He still visited his mother's grave, usually once or twice a month, just to sit down and cry. Dean kept him company every single time, holding him close and halving his pain. Just like Castiel was at his side every time he couldn't handle his father, he was with Castiel every time he needed his mother. 

 

It wasn't easy, but it was worth every single struggle they'd faced. And as Dean held Castiel's hand under the table, a little smile on his face, he knew without a doubt that he was always going to be proud of the bridge he and Castiel built between their worlds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading! Don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and please leave a comment; I adore every single one!
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


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